


Take Me From This Valley

by Siriusfanatic



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Bar fights, Cowboys, Developing Relationship, Drama, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Post Civil War Era, Rape/Non-con Elements, Saloons, Western AU, gunfights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 85,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Western AU!<br/>Logan Howlett, a former Union Solider, has come out west to start his life over. For a few years now he's lived in relative peace in the lonesome town of Tull, where's he's made a life for himself as an Inn Keeper. Living alone save for Jubilee, an orphan he's taken under his wing, Logan is content to lead the quiet life. But the quiet doesn't last, when the late train brings in a gang of outlaws, among them the mysterious and alluring Remy LeBeau, better known in his wanted posters as Gambit. </p><p>    As Tull descends into chaos stirred up by the outlaws, Logan struggles to decide whether the man he's fallen hopelessly in love with will be a blessing or a curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

               

                The rain came in that night, and he came with it. The man with the demon eyes. He had only been a dream, a fleeting vision with an alluring smile and quick hands. But Logan knew that he was more that. That somewhere he breathed and moved. And he was coming to Tull.

                From the window of his room he could see the train station, and he had heard it coming for miles and miles, even through the heavy down pour. Logan leaned against the window pane with the window pulled wide, letting the dampness seep into him while the smoke from his cigar curled out into the night air and vanished. The red glow of it and the soft lamp light behind him could no doubt be seen from the muddy street below, but there wasn’t anyone to see it.

                All of his patrons had gone home, walking or stumbling, hours ago when he had closed the saloon. The ones staying in the rooms upstairs were all snoring, sleeping off bellies full of beer and tough chicken. Only he seemed to be still awake, watching the train arrive.

                The town, known as Tull, was growing steadily each season since they laid that railway line. But Logan remembered when it had been hardly more than four buildings and a couple of shanties. The population boom might have seemed a blessing; certainly it afforded him the business he needed to keep himself fed and watered with a roof over his head. But lately it’s growth had seemed more of a curse than a blessing.

                A certain _type_ of people were attracted to Tull. Odd people. People like him, though only half were so scrupulous and quiet about things. Logan was different. He had no need for conventional means of protection; no guns, no knives to protect himself. His weapon of choice came from his very being; claws that would protrude from the soft places between his knuckles in three long blades. Harder than any other known metal and razor sharp, all Logan ever needed to was show his claws and trouble turned the other way.

                The Mayor of the town himself had similar odd traits, so did the Sheriff. But Logan wasn’t concerned with either of them at the moment. His thoughts were on who might be coming in on that lonesome locomotive. He had woken from his uneasy dream by its sound, and just staring at the glistening black engine through the rain filled him with a quiet sort of dread.

                “Logan?”

                The voice behind him was soft and sleepy. He turned and saw the girl, her short dark hair hanging limply over her eyes blinking at him from the doorway of her bedroom. “Go on back to bed, darlin’.” He mumbled, voice low but not edged with any of its usual grit or irritation.

                She ignored him and padded along the old wooden floorboards until she was standing beside him at the window, looking out in the rain, hugging the oversized robe he had given her around her short frame. She was only sixteen, maybe seventeen, and she wasn’t his in any sense. But there she stayed, if only because she wouldn’t have lasted anywhere else in the town very long.

                Her parents were dead and Logan was the only soul on Earth she knew. He was kind to her, kept her fed and dressed and taught her an honest trade. It was more than she would have gotten at Emma’s, a local woman who ran the town’s brothel. Logan had decided early and immediately that Jubilee would never set foot in there. Not while he was still breathing.

                “Can’t sleep?” she asked, leaning on his arm. Logan brushed a hand over her fine black hair, ruffling the short tresses between his thick fingers. If he had kept up the motion long enough she probably would have fallen right back to sleep.

                “Already slept. Guess I’m done now,” he replied. His eyes were still on the engine. She followed the gaze, her own eyes heavy and burning with tiredness. “Coming in awful late, isn’t it? Should you go down and open the doors? If there’s any passengers they’ll be looking for a room.”

                “Thought about it.” He replied. Truth was he didn’t want to. He had a feeling he wanted nothing to do with anyone who was getting off that train tonight. “But we’re near full as it is.”

                She shrugged and yawned and he turned her gently, steering her through the little room back towards the door that lead to her own, “Back to bed, girl. You got cookin’ and cleanin’ to do in the morning and I won’t hear any excuses.”

                “Alright,” she mumbled, not putting up a fight. She paused in the doorway a moment and then said, without any emotion, “I had a funny dream. About a man with red and black eyes.”

                Logan paused stiffly, blinking at her. Her eyes were heavy; she was already mostly asleep. He shuffled her back into her room and pulled up the blankets and tucked her in. She was out before her head hit the pillow. The black haired man stood watching her, scrubbing a hand thoughtfully over his jaw, feeling equal parts bristly skin and thick sideburns that edged down the corners of his jaw. He’d had the same strange dream.

                Logan turned then and closed her door behind him, returning to his post at the window. In the streets below he could a coach rumbling down the mud slick street, it’s old wheels churning with effort on the muddy, gravely road. He could not see inside its dark windows, but the lantern by the coachman swayed back and forth in the dark. A small breath caught in his throat as he tensed, wondering if it would stop in front of his Inn.

                It paused for a moment, but then kept rumbling down the street. Logan exhaled and leaned his head on the smooth wood of the window pane. He had avoided the trouble, whatever it was, for the moment. But it was far from gone. He closed his eyes and thought about the man with demon eyes. Was he boon or a curse, or some phantom that was yet to reveal himself? All Logan knew was that he felt a change coming in on the wind, and that it didn’t seem like it would be for the better.

 

***

                He fell asleep in the rocking chair by the window around 3 am, and that was where he remained until well after dawn. It was Jubilee’s warm touch on his shoulder that woke him, making him grunt loudly and blink at her with sleep crusted eyes. “Not going to sleep the day away, are you?”

                Logan blinked into the sunlight coming from the window and cursed, rubbing his tired eyes and stretching his stiff back. He was a short broad man, all muscle and grit and dark black hair. The chair groaned gratefully to be rid of his weight as he stood up, cracking his back. “Why didn’t you wake me?” he grunted at her.

                “I took care of everything.” The girl replied. “Besides, none of those slobs you let stay here are up yet. I can hear them snoring clear downstairs in the kitchen. The only one in the saloon this morning is Doc McCoy, and he’s having his usual coffee and reading the paper. I expect the Mayor will be along in a half hour or so.”

                She smiled, turning on heel, her shirt tails swaying as she walked. She refused to wear skirts or petticoats like the other girls. She wore a pair of Logan’s old trousers that had been hemmed and taken in considerably and an old white shirt she bought from the market that hung off her petite figure. To many she appeared to be a boy at first glance, and that again, was fine with Logan.

                “Come on, I made you breakfast. Steak and eggs, just the way you like ‘em.”

                “Thanks, darlin’.” He mumbled, cracking his back and pulling off his stale, sweat damp shirt, tossing it into the wicker basket by the bed and reaching into the bureau for a fresh one. “Did you—“

                “Already went to the market and got milk and eggs.”

                “What about the meat?”

                “Already cooking.”

                “And—“

                She looked at him with an air of exasperation. _“I already did it!”_

                “Well then I suppose you should get to work with the wash.” He tossed his dirty shirt at her playfully and she sputtered as it hit her in the face.

                “UGH! How long have you been wearing this thing!?”

                “Till now. Don’t remember when I put it on.”

                “LOGAN! It reeks! No wonder people run from you.” She gathered up another handful of clothes and washrags that he had thrown in the little wicker basket, crinkling her nose at them and sauntered out the room, hips swaying. He chuckled at her as she left and turned to wash his face in the basin by the mirror. He supposed he could use a proper wash with some hot water, but his priorities had been elsewhere.

                The rain had stopped, making everything outside shine all the brighter in the hot morning sun. But at least the rain had washed away some of the dust from the hard pan of the Western town, making the air feel fresh and awake.

                Thoughts of the demon eyed man were nearly gone from his mind, shuffled to the back like cards, and he hurried downstairs, still half dressed, to get some water from the pump so that he could grab a quick scrub down before the other patrons were up and moving and demanding this that and what have you.

                He scurried down the corridor, glancing down at the spiraling stairwell that lead down to the main floor below where the saloon was located. The large Inn, which contained a total of 6 rooms to rent and one apartment which he shared with Jubilee, had become somewhat of an Institution in the town, where plenty of newcomers came to rest and stay while they looked for a more permanent settlement, and the locals came to converse and drink in a less bawdy environment than Emma’s, which was a few blocks down the dirt road.

                Logan had helped build the place, back three or four years ago when he had come to the town, working as a foreman for the railroad. He had stayed on, preferring the company of the settlement rather than the endless shuffling of the railroad. He’d also owed a debt to the town’s Mayor, a Professor Charles Xavier. Logan had never met a better man, even if at times he thought that man was too much of an idealist and not enough of a realist. There didn’t seem to be much place for some of his ideas in a hard and desolate place like Tull.

                He made his way down the two flights of stairs to the little corridor that lead past the kitchen and out to the back yard, where the water pump was kept. He grabbed the bucket, shook it to dispel any insects or snakes that might have crawled inside during the night and began to pump. Once he’d filled the bucket with cold water, he lifted it and dumped it over his head, soaking himself thoroughly. He sighed loudly and bristled as the cold water raised goose bumps all his naked skin. He shook his wet hair like a dog, brushed it from his eyes and then started pumping again.

                When he looked up a second time, he was startled to find someone watching him from the front porch of another building across the long empty lot of dry yellow grass. He didn’t recognize the man. He was tall and willowy, standing at least a head taller than Logan, though he was leaning against a post. He wore a long brown duster jacket that must have been smoldering in the heat, and wide brimmed hat of a similar color. Beneath that he wore a bright red vest which was eye catching and unusual in these parts, and high leather boots. His trousers were black and might have been a bit snug, drawing Logan’s eyes up those long legs.

                “Bonjour!” the man called with a tip of his hat after a full two minutes of Logan’s silent staring.

                The shorter man blinked, not sure he’d heard right.

                “Come again?”

                “Bonjour!” the man called, now standing more fully. Indeed he was tall, and as lean as the post, but powerfully built in his shoulders and arms. “Means, ‘ello!” he added, voice light and cheerful.

                “Yeah, I understand French,” Logan muttered, forgetting the water for a moment and scratching his hand through his hair as the stranger made to cross the grassy lot. “Just don’t hear it much around here.”

                “Non, I don’t suppose you do.” The stranger smiled. Logan couldn’t quite make out his face beneath the dark shadow of his hat, except for the narrow chin and the sly smile. He could see strands of the man’s hair now as well, long and deep copper brown.

                “If yer lookin’ for a room, I won’t have one to rent until after noon today,” the shorter man said, trying not to stare at the stranger.

The man had a strange smell; it was spicy and alluring, something unlike any he’d scented before. Some of the locals teased him about his extraordinary sense of smell, saying he should have been a furrier or a hunter rather than some crusty old Inn Keeper and Bar Keep. Logan usually ignored their recommendations, they didn’t need to know about his business or what he was and what he’d done before he came here anyway. None of that mattered anymore.

“Very well,” the lean man said, reaching into his pockets. Logan instinctively tensed, but the man didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he ignored it. “And if I would be so inclined, M’sieur, how much would you charge for a room and a meal or two, say for half a week?”

“Cost ya five for the room and three for the meals, three squares served on the dot at seven, one, and five. Not my fault if you go missin’ em.”

“You have running water?”

Logan looked down at his bucket and smirked sarcastically, “If you run with the bucket, then I guess we do.”

The lean man laughed and tipped his hat back.

The bucket abruptly dropped from Logan’s hand and clattered on the dusty ground, soaking his boots. He was staring into the face of the demon eyed man from his dream. And he was beautiful.

The man took off his hat and gave a quick bow, “Remy Lebeau is my name, m’sieur. A card player by trade. Allow me to pay you for the week in advance,” He produced from his vest pocket a rather hefty wad of bills, far more than Logan required for food and lodging. “Dis will cover room and board for me and my three companions, who have business elsewhere in town just now. And de extra is for you, m’seiur, for you hospitality and your discretion.”

“Discretion?” Logan repeated, shaking away some of his shock. “I don’t allow any funny business in my establishment. Keep your money, go down to Emma’s. She’ll set you up.”

The man looked surprised, “Oh, but I’m much rather stay here. I promise you, on my word, dat we will be on our best behavior. We are simple travelers, not looking for any trouble. Only private by nature. I’m sure you understand.”

He cocked his head, eyeing Logan appreciatively. The shorter man could not tell if the man was sizing him up for a fight or not, as the little smile tucked in the corner of his lips seemed almost alluring. “I did not get your name, m’seiur, forgive me.”

“Logan Howlett.” The shorter man grunted, extending a hand at last.

The stranger, now known as Remy, continued to eye him. “You’re not from around here, are you? Not like de others. Your voice, it’s different.”

“I came from up North a few years back.”

“Ah, a Yankee,” Remy nodded. “Did you serve in de war?”

“Did you?”

That smile continued to widen, showing a faint hint of white teeth. “Non, je regret. I left my home in Louisiana not long after de fightin’ start, have not returned since. Probably better for it, non?”

Logan only grunted, counting the money in his hand. He returned several bills back to Remy. “You keep de gratuity. Ya can give it back to me later, if yer a drinkin’ man. Though it looks like a few slugs of gin would knock ya right over.” He nodded to the man’s thin frame.

The smile was flirtatious now, there was no mistaking. “You might be surprised. I have business to attend to now, but my companions and I shall return dis afternoon.” He pressed the money back into Logan’s hand, long fingers playing lightly over his, sending little electric shivers down his spine. “Keep de money. Consider it a down payment on my bar tab.”

He turned and made to walk away, duster flying out behind him. “What’s yer drink?” Logan called after him.

The stranger paused and then smiled back at him over his shoulder; “Whatever you’re drinkin’, M’sieur. Dat suit Remy just fine.”

 

***


	2. Chapter 2

 

***

                When he returned to the saloon, Doc McCoy was waiting for him, sitting at his usual table in the corner by the front door, where he could look out the window and still be undisturbed by most people. The Doctor, also known as Hank to his closest friends, was a hard man to miss. Of all the oddities of Tull, McCoy and his hulking blue form were probably the most noticeably different. At nearly six foot eight, he towered over the Bar Keep, and aside from his height, with build and strength to match, he looked more animal than man.

                Hank’s story was an interesting one. Before the town had gotten more established, he had lived on the outskirts in a lonely little shack, and people feared him because of his unnatural looks. It was Xavier who was able to connect with him, convince him that the town needed his unique healing powers and knowledge.

                Logan brought him another cup of coffee and plate of bacon, which Jubilee had set out for him, along with a few sliced oranges. They were a rare commodity, but a merchant had passed through with boxes and boxes of them from the coast and Logan had bought up as much as he could afford.

                He sat the plate absently down on the edge of table, and had it not been for the Doc’s quick observation, it would have splattered right on the floor the moment the other man turned away.

                “Whoa, easy there!” Hank chuckled, catching the plate in one of his big blue hands, which were more like paws.

                “Sorry, Hank,” Logan mumbled.

                The other man eyed him through his spectacles. His eyes were a warm golden color, and most of the time they had nothing but kindness, compassion and curiosity to them. Logan had seen them shine with a different light though. “Feeling a bit distracted today, are we?” he chuckled.

                Logan nodded, glancing out the window as if hoping the demon eyed man would be there, watching him as he had before. But Remy had gone already, Logan had watched him till he faded from sight around the street corner. “Guess I didn’t get enough sleep.” He muttered.

                “Jubilee told me you were up late last night, watching that train come in. You’re like the town watch dog.”

                “Someone should be.”

                “We have a man well in place for that, Logan,” Hank said kindly. “Sheriff Summers does a fine job keeping Tull free of the villains you read about in the post.”

                “No one reads that but you,” Logan reminded him. “But that’s mostly because not many of them _can_ read.”

                “Something Ms. Grey and Charles are working on, thankfully, for all of us.” He nodded, shaking the news print in an effort to unwrinkle it. He paused to take a slice of orange and bite into it, sucking the juice from the rind and savoring the tangy flavor. A moment later the doors swung open and familiar presence graced them.

                He was an older man, but not of any great age, and the short dark hair on his head was thinning. He was a lean figure, not much taller than Logan. Charles Xavier had come from a well-bred family back East, and even after hard years of living in this dusty town, he still looked every bit of it.

                Hank stood to greet the man, towering over his slight figure. “Charles, you’re looking well this morning.” The big blue beast smiled with a congenial little bow of his head. Logan rolled his eyes and turned away, pulling the rag from over his shoulder and wiping down the other tables. It was too painful to watch sometimes, the way Doc McCoy fawned over the Mayor.

He was in love with him; madly so. Whether Xavier knew was another matter. They were the closest of friends, and enjoyed each other’s company quite often. But the wistful way that McCoy would watch out the window or the door between their meetings told Logan that the doctor wished for much more. Whether or not he would ever get up the gall to tell Xavier about it would be another story.

Logan sauntered behind the counter and brought up Xavier’s usual breakfast, which was a hot cup of Earl Grey tea and toast with marmalade. As he returned to the table with it, chancing another glance out the window, Xavier touched his hand lightly.

“Did your train come in last night, Logan?”

The black haired man started in surprise, nearly dropping the tea cup, but Xavier steadied it quickly. “You promised you wouldn’t do that.” He muttered at the man.

The blue eyed Englishmen only smiled; “I don’t need to read your mind to know your thoughts my friend, they are as plain as the nose on your face this morning. I saw them as well.”

“Them?”

“There are four. Two men and two women. They are…” he picked up his cup and sipped thoughtfully, staring out the window as well. “…concerning.”

“New visitors in Tull?” Hank asked. “Of the unsavory sort I gather.”

“Perhaps, Hank. I sense a great deal of tension between their group.”

“I only met the one,” Logan added then, “Calls himself Remy Lebeau. He’s French or Cajun or something, says he came from Louisiana. Card player, I guess.”

Hank raised a bushy blue eyebrow. “And when did you learn this?”

“Few moments ago, when I was out back.”

                Hank chuckled and smirked, taking a piece of bacon. Logan glared at him, “Care ta let me in on the joke, Doc?”

                “Nothing my friend! I only find it amusing that for a man of little conversation, who likes to know as little about his patrons as possible, you have learned an interesting amount about this stranger. What peaked your interest, I wonder?”

                “Nothin,” Logan growled, turning away from the pair and stalking back towards the counter and disappearing behind the bar into the little door that lead around to kitchen. Jubilee was inside, sitting on a stool, peeling potatoes.

                “You look grumpy as ever,” she noted without even looking up at him. “What’s the matter, the tea not hot enough?” she giggled at her own little joke but he ignored her and started riffling through the cabinets. He was looking for his flask again. She took notice of this at once and jumped up as he started cursing to himself.

                “Hey! You’re not looking for what I think you are, are you?” she chided.

                “Mind your own business,” he muttered to her, digging through the cupboard with harried resolve. She was on him in an instant, tugging at his arm.

                “No you don’t! You promised me you’d stay sober while you were working!”

                “I run a saloon, what do you want from me?” he growled. He tried to shrug her off, but the girl was persistent.

                “I’m _not_ cleaning up after your drunken, sorry—“ She slipped on a dropped peel and nearly went on her face, but he caught her in one strong arm and swept her up on the table. She looked at him with an expression that was cross between indignity and trepidation. He sighed and put his hands on her shoulders, his search forgotten. “Hey now, calm yourself, darlin’. I was only…” he sighed and hung his head. “Nothing. You’re right. I did promise ya, didn’t I?”

                She nodded. Logan sighed heavily, adjusting his belt and closing his eyes. “Yer gonna make an honest man out of me yet, ain’t ya? I was more than happy being a drunken slob, you know. Life was easier then.”

                She hugged him hard and he returned the favor, kissing the top of her head before patting her back and ushering off the table. “Alright, back to work. Hash ain’t gonna make itself. Here, I’ll help you.”

                She nodded, even though she didn’t need his help. He had already taught her to make everything on the menu, and she was nearly a good a cook as he was now. “So…what got under your skin?”

                He didn’t answer her at first, taking the lump of uncooked ham and chopping it coarsely. “You know that funny dream you had last night?”

                “Yeah, sorta,” she replied. “Don’t remember too much now though. Why?”

                “I think I had the same dream.”

                She looked up from the potatoes. “Really? Isn’t that…an omen or something?”

                “So they say.” He looked up at her. “He came in on the train last night. Rented a room for the week.”

                “Wait, what?!” she nearly cut her finger with the paring knife and he snatched it deftly from her hands before she could drop it and impale her foot. “He’s real?”

                “Seems so.”

                “And you talked to him?”

                “Said as much, didn’t I?” he grumbled, hacking at the marbled flesh on the cutting board. Jubilee didn’t know what else to say, stunned by the unlikely circumstances. “Was he handsome?”

                Logan gave a yelp as the blade came down and slashed along the pads of his palm. He cursed loudly and held the bleeding appendage, which Jubilee rushed to cover it with a clean towel. She dabbed at the blood, holding it away from the food. Logan gave another low growl of frustration and pulled the towel away, the wound closing in front of their eyes. Jubilee never grew accustomed to the sight, always half terrified, half amazed to witness this particular gift of his.

                “Was that a yes?” she asked then.

                “You got no business askin’ such things. You’re just a pup yet.”

                “I look at men.”

                “Who think you’re _also_ a man.”

                “They do not!” she protested. “I’ve got breasts!”

                Logan held his head. “Fuck me, it’s too early for this shit.” He tossed the bloody towel aside, left the Ham and potatoes for her to take care of and grabbed his hat off the hook by the door. “Hey! Where are you going?”

                “You forgot the coffee this morning and we’re low. I’m heading down to the market. Mind those potatoes don’t burn.”

                She gave a little shriek and rushed to stir the skillet and remove it from the fire, and by the time she turned around again, he was gone.

 

**

 

                While the Inn was located just south of the center of town, near the train station, the market was dead in the center. It consisted of two small store fronts, one where you could buy food stuffs and whatever produce came off the train, and a butcher shop located directly next door. Across from that was another small shop which specialized in other goods like hardware, textiles and the like. It was here that Logan bought the large burlap sacks of coffee beans that were shipped down from somewhere back east.

                Today he wasn’t in a hurry. He loitered outside the shop for a while, leaning on the rail and watching the townsfolk come and go about their business. He smoked one of his cigars thoughtfully, brim of his hat pulled down low over his eyes to guard against the bright blazing sun. The sky was a sort of ashen blue today, dotted with heavy clouds. Fall was coming.

                A few people waved to him, he nodded in return. He was not one for idly conversation, avoiding it where and when he could, which might have seemed contrary to his profession. But knowing how to pour a drink didn’t mean he wanted to be a sounding board to anyone who might plop down in front of him.

                His eyes combed the passing crowds for signs of that long leather duster and that copper brown hair, the flash of that red vest or those long lean legs. He growled at himself, chewing his cigar bitterly. What was wrong with him? Why had this newcomer gotten into his head this way? Remy LeBeau certainly wasn’t the only mutant in Tull and he wasn’t the only good looking one either.

                Maybe it was loneliness that was driving him to distraction. It had been years and years since he’d had a lover, or even someone to warm his bed for a night. Not that he couldn’t have found someone easily enough. But Logan preferred men, and he wasn’t the kind who liked a casual roll in the sheets with just anyone. No one knew that of course and certainly no one would suspect it.

                His thoughts were interrupted then by a heavy footfall somewhere behind him and he turned his head ever so slightly, lifting an ear. It was the _smell_ that hit him first, however.

                Another stranger. He had a cold smell to him, the kind of smell that reminded Logan of the place had had come from long ago. Firs and pine, mingled with the tingling burning scent of permafrost and heavy furs. But these smells were the underbelly of the stench coming off the man. He reeked of more prominent things now; like sweat, stale beer, sex and blood. The man seemed like he must have bathed in the stuff.

                The door of the shop behind him swung open and the owner of the scent moved onto the porch. He was taller than Logan, indeed, taller than perhaps even LeBeau, with head of shaggy blonde hair that hung ragged in his face and ran down beneath the furred color of his long grey duster. Like Logan, he had thick shaggy side-burns that cut along his strong square jaw, but was otherwise clean shaven. He wore a plain grey vest beneath the coat and black pants and boots, on which were heavy and rather sharp looking spurs.

                He past Logan with not much more than a glance, but the Inn Keeper marked him well. The man was not only tall, he was monstrously built, his shoulders nearly twice the width of his own. Logan would have easily wagered the man could pull a work cart with a full load by himself and outrun the horses he’d replaced by miles.

                “Mornin’,” he called to the man, just to see what he would do.

                The stranger paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the shorter man, leaning on the rail, eyeing him with an easy but observant gaze. Logan saw his eyes then. They were amber colored and deadly looking.

                The man reached into his belt and immediately pulled a pistol from its holster and aimed it squarely at Logan’s forehead. Civilians gasped and skittered from the street, others stood staring in shock, waiting to see if the big man would blow the head off the other.

                Logan barely blinked however, cigar still smoking in the corner of his mouth. He exhaled a smoke ring and took the stub between his fingers, still just observing the stranger with unnerving calm. “Not much of a morning person, eh?” he said with a small smirk. His eyes were daring the other man to pull the trigger and see what would happen if he did. He almost wished he would, just so he could see the look of surprise on his face.

                “Put it down, Victor,” a woman’s voice commanded him from the street then. The man growled low in his throat. It was a distinctly animal sound, and Logan saw a flash of enlarged canine teeth protruding from his curled lips.

                They both turned to see a woman approach from a nearby coach. Her hair was blazing red, and her dress was a deep maroon color trimmed with black and gold. She was a beauty to be sure, but her eyes were cold and gleaming, and she had the same scent of blood on her as brute leveling the gun at his head.

                “You’ll forgive my husband,” she spoke, laying her hand on Victor’s arm and lowering it herself, her eyes studying the dark haired man. “He’s not much for conversation, I’m afraid.”

                “Seems so,” Logan grunted at her. “You came in on the late train, eh?”

                “Indeed we did.” The woman answered. “I’m Lady Darkholm, this is my husband Victor. We’re traveling from Virginia.”

                “Hmm. You wouldn’t happen ta have a Cajun with ya, would ya?”

                Both the man and the woman smiled a little more, though both lacked warmth and sincerity and instead made Logan clench inside himself. “As a matter of fact we do. You must be the proprietor of that charming little Inn we saw. I trust he’s made all the necessary arrangements with you?”

                “Yes ma’am,” he replied with a tip of his hat to be polite. “But I oughta warn ya that the Sheriff around here is very strict about people wavin’ guns around, and so am I. Won’t have no fightin’ nor shootin’ nor brawlin’ in my establishment. If yer husband can’t abide by that, then I’m gonna have to ask ya to take yer business elsewhere.”

                “We understand, sir. I promise you, we’ll be quiet as mice.” She took the man’s arm and lead him away, back towards the waiting coach. Logan watched them go. He didn’t like the way they smelled, and the man especially seemed dangerous, and somehow familiar.

                His stomach rolled faintly and he shifted uncomfortably, throwing the stub of his cigar onto the dirt and grinding it down with his heel. If the demon eyed man kept company with these two he knew he would be trouble. Common sense told him to just forget all about and go about his business. It wasn’t his place to judge, so long as these people didn’t cause him any trouble.

                He turned inside and went to buy his beans, already wishing the day was over with, even though it had just begun.

 

***

 

                Business was slow that day, and Logan saw hide nor hair of the strangers from the train, just the usual locals who came for lunch and dinner and after sunset to drown their sorrows in his liquor. He buried himself in his work and spoke little to anyone, even his friends, his mind too busy with other vexing thoughts.

                Dusk was falling outside, turning the sky pale purple and indigo, the sunlight a deep orange haze on the horizon past the faint misty outline of mountains. And that was the moment he saw that faded leather duster again.

                Reaching for a bottle of whiskey from the upper shelf, the Bar Keep froze, eyes fixed fast to the tall lean figure that sauntered into the room. Remy’s eyes swept the sparsely filled tables and then flittered over the bar and found Logan’s. His features brightened at once as he smiled, swept his hat from his head once more and approached the bar.

                “Bon soir, M’sieur Howlett! I trust you’ve had a pleasant day, non? I’ll have a shot of what you’re reaching for, sil vous plait.”

                Logan found himself returning the easy smile in spite of himself, maybe because his back was now turned to the man and he could not see. “So you’re a whisky man, are ya?”

                “Prefer bourbon, or a nice red wine, but whisky do in a pinch.” The other man answered. He glanced across the bar at the other eyes watching him, most of which flickered back to their drinks the moment he did. “Bonjour mes amis!” he nodded to them. “Pleasant evenin’, don’ you t’ink? Remy like dis town, though it is perhaps a little small.”

                Logan slid the glass of whisky in front of him, and Remy took it in his long fingers before looking up again at the dark haired man. “Pour yourself one, homme, I insist.”

                “I don’t drink while I work.” Logan replied matter-of-factly.

                The other man nodded, tossing back the shot in one long gulp. Logan watched his adam’s apple bob in his long neck out of the corner of his eye and felt himself twitch in the pit of his groin. What was it about this man that stirred him so?

                “Dat’s a wise policy,” he answered thoughtfully, holding out the glass as Logan poured him another shot of the amber liquid. “A sober mind very important. Though, I always have more fun when I am otherwise inclined.”

                “I met your friends,” Logan said then.

                The Cajun raised an artful brow, “Oh? So you did? Well, how do you like dem?”

                “Not much, tell the truth. They some kin of yours?”

                “Oui et non,” he answered cryptically. “No kin by blood. I work for M’sieur Darkholm. He’s a very simple man, comes from hard places. None too friendly. But he pay well.”

                “And what is it you do for him?”

                That sly smile was on the demon eyed man’s lips again and he wet them faintly with the tip of his tongue and that twitch in Logan’s groin grew more pronounced. He wanted to taste the whisky on those lips, wanted to see them flushed with blood and swollen from kissing.

                “Dis and dat, as dey say.” He grinned and took the shot a little slower. From behind him then, Jubilee was sweeping through the crowd with a bucket in hand, loading up all the soiled glasses and dishes from the patrons. Her eyes settled on Remy, or perhaps it was the way that Logan was looking at the man that drew her attention.

                She was suddenly at his elbow, staring at him. “Sweet baby Jesus, they really are that color!” she gasped, seeming to have spoken aloud by accident.

                Remy turned to her curiously and smiled. “Salut, mon petite belle! You see me plain. Back home de used to call me Le Diable Blanc. You know what dat means?”

                “The White Devil.” Logan answered, much to their surprise.

                “Oui, M’sieur. You do understand French, quite well.” Remy’s smile broadened and Logan didn’t think his jeans could get any tighter.

                “That’s a terrible name,” Jubilee cut in, “makes you sound like you’re a bad man.”

                “Non,” Remy answered. “Just a name, petite. Only name dat means anyt’ing in dis world is de one you make for yourself.”

                The dark haired girl turned her attention back to Logan, free hand on her hip with the bucket of dirty dishes balanced on her other, “ _This_ is the guy you’re dreaming about?”

                Logan frowned darkly at the girl, who skittered away under his gaze, but the tips of his ears had turned red with embarrassment and as she passed him he gave her ass a quick smack, making her yelp. The Cajun chuckled lightly.

                “Your daughter is charming, like her Papa, non?”

                “I ain’t nobody’s ‘Papa’,” Logan growled, taking Remy’s glass and dashing it into his bucket below the bar and moving off to help other patrons, who were growing impatient. He felt the man’s eyes on him as he moved. He was growing so irritated with the fact that he would have liked to have turned around and clawed him. Or more preferably, bend him over the bar and fuck him raw and wild.

                Logan snorted then, shaking his head and slipping into the back corridor where the kitchen was to catch his breath. He didn’t like this at all, this sudden desire that was burning inside of him at just the mention of the stranger. He shifted his jeans, trying to alleviate some of the friction. If his arousal grew any more insistent he would have to slip upstairs and take care of it.

                He chanced a glance back at the bar, and noticed that the demon eyed man was suddenly no longer alone. A woman, another stranger, was leaning on his shoulder. She had a thick head of chestnut colored hair, all waves and curls, hastily pin tucked into a bun at the top of her head. The mass of it was marked by a startling white streak that started at her forehead and wound around into a thin strip among the mass over curls. She was pretty, to be sure, and young too. Her dress was green and expensive looking, and cut low as was the style in the big cities. It reminded Logan of the dresses he often saw on Madam Frost and her girls.

                The woman was twisting her fingers, covered by long green satin gloves to match her dress, through Remy’s hair, whispering something in his ear. Logan felt a prickle of jealousy lance through his core, making him snort and bear his teeth. His animal side, the one that was dormant, stirred suddenly, perceiving a challenge.

                He noticed then, however, that Remy did not exactly look comfortable having the woman draped over him the way she was. Indeed, his smile had vanished and his mouth was in a hard firm line, his eyes distant as he listened to her words. Logan sensed something then, a change in the air, a change in the Cajun’s smell. It would have been imperceptible to anyone else, except perhaps other mutants who shared his ability, though the only one he knew of was Doc McCoy.

                He watched as the girl moved away, and Remy pulled a little slip of paper and pen from his vest pocket, scribbled something hurriedly upon the paper, placed a few coins upon it and turned to leave. Logan had to stop himself from leaping out after him, but remained motionless until the two had disappeared out the door.

                Then he hurriedly swept toward the bar, snatching the note before a greedy young man who went by the unfortunate moniker of “Toad” could snatch it and the coins up in his sticky fingers. Logan snarled at him and he went slinking off to a back table.

                The paper was warm and it smelled like Remy. The dark haired man unfolded it gently and looked at the words scrawled there in crisp curls and lines. Remy was educated and well, if he could write this nicely. Logan’s own handwriting was barely more than chicken scratch, but at least it was legible and concise, if lacking in any artfulness.

                _Thank you for the drink. I will return tonight. I sleep alone, if you care to play a hand of cards._

_~RL_

                Logan was enticed, to say the least. Was the man inviting him to his bed for the night? It seemed a bit presumptuous of him, or maybe Logan was just that obvious in his attraction. Someone further down the bar called for his attention and he hastily tucked the note into his shirt pocket, along with the handful of coins the man had left for him.

                Another hour passed in a haze, and between fantasies of what the night might hold for him, Logan began to realize that something was missing. He scanned the ever dwindling crowd, who were all well drunk and stuffed full of pork and biscuits, when he finally realized what it was. Jubilee was nowhere to be seen.

                He ducked back into the kitchen and found it empty. His pot of soup was nearly boiling over and he hastily had to pull it from the flame, burning his hands as he did so. Cursing and growing more agitated by the minute, he stalked up stairs, past sleepy patrons and their nightly ‘guests’ towards their upstairs apartment, but the girl was not inside their either. He did however, see that she had left her apron lying on her bed, and that her window was open.

                Logan let out a long suffering sigh. Ever since taking the girl in, he had discovered she had a penchant for sneaking out of her window and climbing down the porch roof, using the climbing ivy on the lattice outback to reach the ground unnoticed. “I’m gonna strangle her,” he muttered, having no idea where she could have gone.

                He stalked back down stairs, and his irritation was palpable, for everyone hastened to clear his path. He stopped by a patron who was at the other end of the bar, quietly playing a game of solitaire and still nursing his first beer. “Bobby, watch the bar, will you. I’ll be back.”

                The young man, blonde and wide eyed, a budding ranch hand, blinked up at him in surprise. “What?”

                “Stay here. Jubes ran off. Any idea where she’s going?”

                “Why would I know?”

                Logan glared him down and the kid flinched, “She sometimes goes over to the station with some of the other girls. That’s all I know!”

                He snorted like a bull and grabbed his hat and jacket from the hook and stormed out of the bar, leaving Bobby blinking in his wake. Outside the night had already turned chilly and he could see his breath as he walked. Fall was definitely coming.

 

***


	3. Chapter 3

 

***

 

                The Eastern horizon was clear and the stars were shinning above the desert, but to the West, low heavy clouds rolled in, bringing with them lightning and deep rumbles of thunder. Logan counted the seconds between the thunder claps; the storm would arrive in the next twenty minutes, maybe sooner since the wind was beginning to pick up.

                Hat pulled down low over his brow, he loped along the dusty side streets, ignoring the faint scattering of townsfolk as they rushed to take cover. They closed their shutters against the wind, blotting out the little squares of light that helped to illuminate the street, leaving Logan in ever growing darkness.

                He was almost to the station; it was at the end of the next street. As he made to turn down the road he gave pause. A smell carried on the wind, one that made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck prickle and stand on end. The man named Victor was close by and moving closer.

                Logan flexed his fingers, bones cracking faintly as he did and stood very still, waiting. The man was circling him he gathered, taking his time, sizing him up. Lightning flashed in the distance and Logan’s eyes widened in the brief illumination and caught sight of the beastly man watching him from the porch of another building. He did not appear to be armed, at least not initially.

                “Storms coming in, and I lock the doors at nine. Suggest you go on home, Mr. Darkholm.” Logan suggested, struggling to sound civil. Something about that man’s scent burned him and made him anxious to be rid of him. He was already regretting having agreed to his stay in his Inn.

                “I don’t take orders from you,” Victor growled back at him, moving further down the street, and Logan tensed further when he saw the direction the man meant to take. “Mind yer own business, bar keep. You’ll live longer that way.”

                Logan felt a persistent itch between his knuckles. Years. It had been years since he’d unleashed his claws. But this man was begging for them, begging for Logan to bury them in him up to the hilt and gut him like an animal. “Got business of my own.” He replied and shuffled forward. The wind blew at his back and he raised his collar against the gust of dust that brushed up against him. The blonde man watched him move with his golden, cat-like eyes.

                “Where you goin?” he muttered.

                “Take your own advice,” Logan replied with a smirk of his own. “Mind yer business.”

                He made to turn away once more when something crashed into him from behind, claws ripping through the back of his coat. Logan gasped as he felt razor sharp claws tear through leather and cotton but also flesh and muscle. The metallic scent of blood flooded the humid air and he was knocked to the ground, momentarily winded.

                He began to push himself up when another hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, picked him up and hurled him into the wooden post of a porch. It cracked audibly, collapsing the corner of the porch roof. Logan tumbled to the ground again, moaning softly.

                He heard the jingling of spurs passing him as he laid there in a daze, momentarily unable to move his arms or legs. He opened his eyes and tried to see where the other man had gone, but he could not will his head to move. The rain came in then, cold and pelting. All Logan could do was lie there helplessly, bearing his teeth and demanding that his body respond to his will; but all he could do was twitch. The bastard must have broken his back.

                “Mon Dieu!”

                The Bar Keeper’s eyes widened as he heard footsteps running toward him and a body drop beside his, shielding him from the rain. “M’sieur Howlett!”

                It was Remy. He was looking down at him with those wide red on black eyes, suddenly full of fear. The concerned expression on his face made him look younger, barely out of boyhood himself.

                Logan groaned and scraped the ground with his fingers, still fighting for mobility. Remy’s hand came behind his head and pulled him carefully into his lap, “Hush now, mon ami, you are in a bad way.”

                “…will be fine…” Logan muttered.

                The other man gave him sympathetic smile, “Of course, but you must be still. You’ve broken something…”

                Logan struggled for words. He was not afraid; he knew the injury would heal, but he could already feel his consciousness slipping. He managed to force the fingers of his right hand to flex around Remy arm. “Jubilee…bring her home…need her home…” He pointed a shaking finger towards the station where Darkholm had disappeared.

                Remy nodded in understanding then leaned over him and pressed what felt like a kiss to his forehead. The longer strands of his hair brushed Logan’s cheeks. Logan smiled to himself and then remembered nothing more.

 

**

 

                Someone was singing.

                This particular fact floated to the forefront of his muddled mind as he opened his tired eyes once more, because it was such a strange thing to hear.

                It was a man’s voice, singing softly and sweetly in French.

“ _Je me souviens des promesses_  
 _Au nom de l'amour_  
 _Je vais t'attendre là_  
 _Viendras-tu pour moi?_  
 _Je vais t'attendre là_  
 _Seulement toi..”_

                Logan opened his eyes, peering up at the sun-washed ceiling of his bedroom, and lifted his head from the pillow. Somehow it was morning again, and the rain had gone and he was tucked into his bed. The singing he heard was not coming from his own room, but rather it seemed, from the adjoined sitting room beyond.

                He tossed off the quilt off and noted that someone had cleaned and wrapped his wounds, and undressed him. He paused for a moment, considering this. Jubilee couldn’t have lifted him in his unconscious state on her best day, so it must have been the Cajun. He wondered if the man had been impressed.

He stood up, feeling his back crack a little as he did so. All the broken vertebrae had slipped back into their proper positions, and he stretched the once tender muscles, feeling his full strength return. Victor Darkholm was going to have to do much better than that next time he wanted to keep him down. He turned and found his clothes laid out neatly on the chair by the foot of the bed. Remy’s scent was there. The Cajun had watched over him while he slept?

Logan slipped his clothes on hastily and padded on nearly silent feet to the door leading into the rest of the apartment. He peered cautiously through the crack in the door, where the melodic words continued to rise and fall in time.

_“Tu prends peut-être du retard_  
 _Tu as peut-être raté ton train_  
 _Tu ne peux peut-être pas me pardonner_  
 _Les ombres grandissent_  
 _Et les foules s'effacent_  
 _Je vais t'attendre là_  
 _Viendras-tu pour moi?_  
 _Je vais t'attendre là_  
 _Seulement toi..”_

 

                Remy LeBeau was sitting in the old rocker by the bay windows, his voice filling the small sunlit room, shuffling cards between his palms as Jubilee sat at his knee, trying to mend the tear in Logan’s torn coat with notable frustration. It was such an odd sight, seeing the two of them together in that room, so at ease with one another.

                The old floorboard beneath his foot creaked and the copper haired man turned in his direction, still making one of his cards dance along his knuckles. “ Dere he is at last,” he grinned. “thought you would sleep de day, mon ami.”

                “Yeah, well, guess I needed it.” He muttered, stepping more fully into the room as Jubilee leapt up from her place and threw her arms around his neck.

                “You idiot, why’d you have to go chasing after me like that!” she cried, glaring up at him.

He stared down at her, “Excuse me? If a certain _someone_ hadn’t decided to lit off in the middle of the night, _I_ would have to!” His face told her he had a mind to turn her over his knee and crack his hand across her backside several times, but they both knew he would never raise a hand to her.

“How’d you get home anyway?” he grumbled.

Jubilee turned to the tall man behind her, “Mr. LeBeau came and found me. When he told me you were hurt we rushed back here. He’d already put you to bed and everything.” She smiled gratefully at the man, who only gave a little bow of his head. She then turned back to Logan, frowning. “So who was it this time? Did Toad get drunk and try to rob the register again? Because you know he’s a complete moron.”

At this the dark haired man blinked in surprise. “No, it wasn’t Toad,” he said slowly. “Just some drunk passing by. Guess things got a little out of control.” He eyed Remy carefully, wondering what story he had concocted for the girl.

Logan glanced at the clock then, “Passed time to open. You know Hank’s at loss without his breakfast and paper. Go on down, unlock the doors.” He said, swatting at her as she skittered away.

“Alright fine! But I want the whole story later!” she grabbed her apron from the knob by the door and was gone, leaving the two men alone in the little room once more.

“You sure she’s not yours?” Remy asked airily, “Can see de resemblance.”

“Her parents were murdered. I took ‘er in. Nothin’ more than that.” Logan answered, more harshly than he meant to as he turned to face the man who had wholly occupied his thoughts for the last twenty four hours. “What kind of story did you feed her; that I got into some kind of bar brawl?”

Remy shrugged his shoulders, which were muscular but not as wide as Logan had first guessed. It was the first time he had seen the man without his long leather coat. Today he was wearing a plain blue shirt, the color of water, and a pair of plain brown trousers, that were still tight on his long legs. The boots remained in place.

“I did not know what to tell de girl, didn’t want her ta worry needlessly.”

“You mean you were protecting your employer.” Logan grumbled at him, frowning darkly.

Remy shifted, shrugging his shoulders at little. “I don’t need to protect M’sieur Darkholm, if you didn’t notice.” He kept looking Logan up and down, and the other man came to realize he was actually shocked to see him up and moving.

“Healing factor,” he explained without being prompted. “Helps in a pinch.”

“I gathered when you did not perish in the de night. Your back was broken, you know. Thought for sure you would slip away in your sleep.”

“So why did you stick around?” he grunted at the man. “Waiting to loot me?”

At this Remy hung his head a little and his face was sincere, “Non, M’sieur. Was worried about you, and de girl. She very frightened and obviously alone. It wouldn’t have been right of me to turn aside.”

Logan considered this carefully, slowly nodding his head. “Well…thanks, I guess.”

The smile returned to the demon eyed man’s lips. “But of course. I am, for my part, very glad you are well again. Pained me to think of the opportunities I might have missed if you had gone and died before we got to know each other better.” He leaned close and ghosted a little kiss over the tip of Logan’s ear.

Logan moaned audibly, much to his chagrin. But Remy only laughed softly. “I hate to leave so soon, but I have matters to attend to as well. You sure you’re feeling alright?”

Logan grumbled something that Remy didn’t quite catch and the copper haired man nodded again. “D’accord. I must miss breakfast dis mornin’, but shall return for lunch. I’d be most pleased if you and Jubilee would join me.”

Logan nodded curtly, hoping the man wouldn’t know how flustered he’d made him, but he could feel the tips of his ears burning with heat. “You know I can’t just forget about what happened,” he called to his guest, who made his way towards the door. Remy stilled, his back to him, hand on the knob. “Around here assaulting a man is a crime. If I were anyone else, I’d be in a coffin by now, and Mr. Darkholm would be swinging from the gallows.”

“Remy know,” the other man answered softly. “But you are not just any man. And neither is he. Please, M’sieur, for your own good, do not get de law involved in dis matter.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Remy turned and looked at him seriously, “Because you have a daughter to protect. And I don’t imagine she heal as fast as you.” He turned the knob then and was gone before Logan could say anything else.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remy's song translated:
> 
> I remember the promises  
> In the name of love  
> I'll wait for you there  
> Will you come for me?  
> I'll wait for you there  
> only you
> 
>  
> 
> You may take the delay  
> You may have missed your train  
> You can not possibly forgive me  
> The shadows grow  
> And the crowds disappear  
> I'll wait for you there  
> Will you come for me?  
> I will wait there for you  
> only you
> 
> The Civil Wars - Sacred Heart


	4. Chapter 4

 

***

 

  
                Remy made his way from the apartment with quick light steps, half expecting the Inn Keeper to come charging after him, ready to tear into him. He could not tell if the man had perceived his words as a threat or not. Certainly he had meant it as a warning, for he did not wish to see further harm come to him and kin.

                It had been a long night and his eyes burned with lack of sleep. He had sat by Logan’s bedside through the night, watching closely as the man’s mortal wounds had healed themselves. The bandages were more out of habit and a need for him to feel useful than an actual necessity.

                He pulled the room key from the pocket of his shirt and twisted it into the knob, casting one last glance behind him to make sure he wasn’t followed. Downstairs he could hear rustling and faint shouts, and Jubilee giving some obstinate customer plenty of lip. He chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. He had become fond of the child.

                But all his humor fled him the moment he stepped into the room and found two visitors waiting for him.

                “What kept you, Gambit?” the red haired woman asked, looking at Remy from her vanity stool, where she was busy brushing her hair into some elaborate up-do.

                Remy glared at her reflection, “Cleaning up after your _‘husband’s’_ messes.” He growled, folding his arms across his chest. The girl who was sitting on the edge of the bed, the one he knew best as Rogue, gave him a mocking smile.

                “Oh don’t mind him, mother. He’s just been busy havin’ fun with that shaggy Inn Keeper.” She giggled at his expense, lifting herself off the bed and walking over to him, brushing herself up against him seductively. “What’s the matter, sugah? Thought we was havin’ fun playing the groom and blushin’ bride, like we did in the last town.”

                Remy took her gloved hands and pulled her back, “Not dis time, Marie.” He muttered, using her real name. “Ain’t forgiven ya for that last mess.”

                “Well we _had_ to close the deal somehow. Besides, if I didn’t marry dat old coot, he would have never written that new will, and then we’d all be begging. Thank goodness he didn’t last past the wedding night.”

                Remy pushed away from her, moving towards the woman known as Lady Darkholm. He leaned upon her vanity, leaning down close so that he was nearly face to face with her. “You need to control Creed. He nearly killed dat man last night. If I hadn’t been watchin’, we’d already have de law on us.”

                She looked up at him with her gold eyes, which matched the other man’s but had none of their animal like quality. She shifted and her milky pale skin rippled, returning to its natural state of scaly blue. She often hid this mutation from the rest of the world, preferring to show off her shape-shifting abilities, except when in very close company.

                “But isn’t that what we pay you for, Gambit? To clean up after Victor?”

                “Not nearly enough,” he growled back. He sighed, stretching his arms behind his head and threading them through his hair, staring up at the ceiling fan. “What was so important dat he had to pick up last night anyway?”

                “Our next investment,” Lady Darkholm answered, putting another bobby pin in her hair before adjusting the laces on her corset. “She came in on the train last night along with some workers from the church.”

                “A woman?” he asked, raising a thin brow in curiosity. “What, she got some rich daddy you can exploit?” he smirked. But the woman looked up at him with a deadly serious expression, lifting herself from the stool and pressing one long nail into the pit between his ribs sharply.

                “You never mind what she’s for. If you need to know, I’ll tell you. For right now, you just keep doing what you’re doing and keepin’ that Bar Keeper distracted. I don’t care if you fuck ‘im or if you don’t.”

                “Logan’s harmless.” Remy lied.

                Rogue turned to her mother, hand to her breast as she let out a little scoffing laugh. “Oh _Logan_ , is it? You two must have gotten cozy last night.”

                “You shut your mouth, girl.”

                Her mother reached up and slapped him, hard enough to make him stumble against the wall. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, “Don’t you speak to my daughter like that, you little ingrate. Remember what you were before we came along; a deserter, starving in the cold, willing to do _anything_ for a scrap of food.”

                Remy dropped his eyes to the floor and nodded quietly, “Desole, madame. Remy forgot himself for a moment.”

                She kissed the place where she struck him and left him alone, looping her arm with the younger girl, who gave him a pitying little glance out of the corner of her eye when she thought her mother couldn’t see. “Come on, dear, let’s go down and have something to eat. You should get some sleep, Remy. We’ll need you later tonight.”

                “Oui, Madame, whatever you wish.”

                “That’s my good boy.” She purred, closing the door behind him and leaving him alone once more. Gambit shivered and when he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror he turned away in disgust. A faint spark of bright pink light flickered from his fingertips, striking like a tiny bolt of lightning at the nearest object, which was one of Lady Darkholm’s perfume bottles. It shattered with a pronounced pop and Remy growled in frustration, hastening to open the window and let the stench of the stuff out of the room.

                He hung his out outside, gulping in the fresh air and trying to calm the rush of anger that was swelling up inside him. He should have known better than to get attached, or to put pleasure before business. Maybe he really hadn’t learned anything in the last few years, except to do whatever it took to survive.

                It was easy money, really, all of it. Playing cards was always a sure thing for him; he had never yet lost at a hand of poker, though he liked to pretend he was still learning the rules. That always brought them to the table; playing the sweet looking unsuspecting southerner with the strange accent. These men thought he would be easy pickings after he lost a round or two. But then he took them for everything they had.

                Of course, sometimes this wasn’t enough. Sometimes things got messy. Either the players would be drunk and furious and come after him with guns and knives. Remy was prepared, of course. His own special ability, his kinetic energy, which could charge matter and cause it to explode, was usually more than enough to get a few drunken cowboys off his hands.

                And sometimes even cards weren’t enough, and Remy had to employ other methods of persuasion and coercion. He wasn’t a stranger to seduction, or to using his body to get the job done. Men, women, it didn’t matter. It was all just a means to an end. Which was what Lady Darkholm and Victor Creed, the man posing as her husband, had beat into him over the last few desperate years.

                He looked down to the street then and noticed Logan leaving the building and his eyes latched onto the dark haired man’s figure curiously. He was carrying two big buckets in his hands, no doubt heading to the pump to get more fresh water. Remy found himself smiling in spite of himself. He wasn’t sure what it was about the man that attracted him so, but whatever this warm feeling was in his chest was, he didn’t want to ignore it. It had been so long since he had felt anything of the kind for anyone.

                He watched the dark haired man flex his powerful shoulders and back, knees bending slightly as he worked the old rusting water pump. He could barely believe this was the same man whom only a few short hours ago was lying crippled in bed.

                Of all the strange things he had come across on the long road from Lousianna, Remy had only ever encountered one other mutant with a healing factor like Logan’s. He wondered if the man knew how lucky he was. Or how absolutely beautiful.

                He blinked when Logan suddenly looked up and caught him watching him. He raised his hand to wave to him, and Remy gave a little wave back before smiling, almost nervously and ducked back into the room, shutting the window behind him. He paused there for a moment, taking slow deep breathes as he pushed down the arousal that had risen in the pit of his stomach and caused his loins to throb faintly. “Oh M’sieur, Remy hope dis week over with soon, before you drag him in too deep. Can’t afford to be fallin’ in love wit you, no matter how much he want to.”

                He turned to the wash basin then and splashed cold water on his face and neck before turning to the little room and lying down on the bed and forcing his eyes to close. By and by he fell asleep, listening to the sound of that old water pump squeaking in the distance.

 

***


	5. Chapter 5

 

***

 

                Logan watched and waited for over an hour that morning for the man called Victor to show himself. But despite the heavy number of patrons that morning, all eager to escape the weary hum-drum of their everyday with a little gossip and food they didn’t have to prepare themselves, he never caught even a whiff of the man’s foul scent.

                Finally he approached the two women, who were sitting tucked in the corner to his right. Everyone in the saloon had noticed them that morning. They were beautiful and exotic in their fancy gowns and parasols and high boots. It didn’t help that both were flashing flirtatious glances in all directions. It seemed to be this group’s job to get people riled up, and Logan didn’t care for it at all.

                “Ladies, everything to your liking?” he asked, coming to stand beside them.

Lady Darkholm smiled up at him, “Good morning, Mr. Howlett! Yes, everything is excellent, thank you. Your Inn is quite…quaint. If we are ever passing through Tull again, we will be sure to stay here.”

“That’s kind of ya,” he muttered, hoping with all sincerity that wouldn’t happen. He looked down at the brown haired woman, almost startled by how much of her breast he could see as he did, “I don’t think we were introduced, young lady.”

She smiled up at him and extended a glove hand for him to take. She probably expected him to make a fool of himself and try to shake it as he would have a man’s, but took her cupped fingers in his own palm and gave it a little kiss instead, the way a gentlemen would. The girl seemed pleasantly surprised.

“Ann Marie Darkholm, a pleasure to meet your acquaintance,” she purred. Her accent was honeyed and dripping. “Thank you for being so kind as to put my family and I up here, it’s been a long weary road.”

He nodded. “Won’t your husband be joining us today?”

“Oh I’m afraid not. You’ll have to forgive Victor, he keeps odd hours. He had a meeting this morning in another part of town with a potential buyer.”

“What are you selling?” Logan asked.

The older woman gave him a little smirk, “Well, you’d have to take that up with my husband as well I’m afraid.”

He nodded curtly and began to excuse himself when Ann Marie called back to him, “If you’re looking for our friend, Remy, he’s upstairs in his room. Got in rather late last night, looked something terrible, poor thing.”

Logan kept his back turned to her but nodded to show that he had heard and made his way through the tables again. He chanced a few glances up the stair well, tempted to go up and look on the man as the girl was suggesting. But he resisted the temptation and moved instead toward the doorway, where he could see Hank cramped into the corner.

“Good morning, Logan! Full house today! These flapjacks are divine might I add.”

“You seen the Sheriff?” the dark haired man asked him without preamble.

Hank blinked at him behind his spectacles. “Why, no I haven’t, not this morning. I assume he’s at the jailhouse where he always is this time of day, unless business has called him elsewhere. Is anything the matter?”

“Why would there be?” he grunted.

“Well, because it’s no secret that you don’t have any love for Sheriff Summers, Logan. Half the town has a running bet to see which of you will kill each other first. Or, um, so I’ve heard.”

“Ain’t anything I can’t handle.” He retorted. He glanced down at the bigger man, “You’ve got syrup on your suit.”

“Oh my stars and garters!” the doctor sighed, quickly dabbing at the sticky miss. He added then, before Logan could turn away, “How is your mystery guest, by the way? The young man with the unusual eyes?”

Logan bristled uneasily, feeling oddly territorial. “Who told you about him?”

“I saw him about town yesterday, after our little conversation. He is rather dashing, I must say. Have you spoken with him at all?”

“Mind yer business, Doc.”

Hank chuckled to himself, “I would take that to mean you’ve spoken at length. And where does he come from? Will he be in town long?”

“Leave it alone, doc.”

“Logan, you’re turning red.” McCoy was smiling at him the way a proud mother would.

“I said leave it alone, dammit!” he snapped, yanking Hank’s tea pot from the table, along with all his half eaten dishes and storming away, leaving Hank blinking in the aftermath.

“Oh my. It must be very serious indeed to invoke that much of a reaction. I daresay it might even be _love._ ” He laughed, licking syrup from his fingers.

 

                In the street outside, Victor Darkholm, better known to his compatriots as Victor Creed, watched and waited. He’d spent long hours of the night and into the early dawn conducting his business in the back parlor of Emma’s, where he had spoken not only to the Madam herself, but also another wealthy gentlemen from a nearby town who had arranged the meeting.

                With his “investment” safe and tucked out of sight for the time being, Victor turned his attentions to more pressing concerns. The Inn Keeper might be trouble. Victor could smell him, moving around inside the building.

                They had met before, in what felt like another life now, but the other man didn’t remember him. Victor was curious as to why. Much had transpired since those dark hellish years of war and wrath and ruin, yet he remembered them all fondly like it was yesterday. He belonged in that time. He was useful. Since the war had ended he’d been drifting, making a living and a killing off cattle rustling, murder for hire, and various bounties.

                He was a listless creature, always hunting, always seeking fresh blood. Since joining with the cunning and often murderous Raven Darkholm, he had found some sense of purpose. He was doing what he was built and bred for, and getting rich on top of it. He killed when he wanted, he fucked when he wanted, and all on his terms.

                But now he’d found a _real_ challenge. Sooner or later, Logan was going to remember him. And then there would be blood. It would be glorious, the carnage and the glory of battling a man that was truly his match.

And that fucking little Confederate deserter might just ruin it all for him. His golden eyes shifted to the second floor window, searching for the rooms where his group had been housed. He caught a whiff of Remy’s scent coming from an open window and a predatory growl escaped his lips. He started forward, only to stop and retreat into the deep shadows between two buildings as someone exited the side door of the Inn.

                He eyed the dark haired man who was calling himself Logan these days. Creed tensed, ready to pounce immediately, but held himself in check. The Inn Keeper didn’t see him. He had business elsewhere, walking hurriedly down the dusty street towards some unknown destination. Creed watched until he vanished, then moved toward the Inn again, slipping in the same way the other man had left.

                He stalked along the corridors and up the winding staircase to the second floor landing. He paused only briefly outside the little door where Remy slept, listening. The Cajun was tricky, he had to give him that. He wasn’t all pretty face and long legs and stupid fucking card tricks. He had real prowess, real cunning, and Creed would be lying to himself if thought he wasn’t dangerous. Desperate men always were.

                But there was practically nothing Remy could do that would stop him for long. The Cajun had learned that the hard way. Pausing there now he could only hear the soft sounds of breathing and extra warmth in his scent that was caused by sleep.

                He pushed open the door, slipping inside with surprising stealth. For as lumbering a figure as he was, Creed could move in near silence when he wished. Remy was spread out on his stomach upon the bed, unmoving. Victor licked his lips. He moved to the foot of the bed.

                Remy’s red eyes flew open then, but he was a second too late. Creed was on him just as the man made to reach for the deck of cards that was tucked into his pocket. He could already see the pink glow of the man’s energy crackling from his fingertips.

                But Creed seized the man’s wrist, clawed hands curling around them tightly and forcing them down into the mattress as he crouched over the man, knees on either side of his thighs, torso pressing down on LeBeau’s back, keeping him from moving.

                “Non! Sil vous plait, M’sieur, don’t--!”

                Creed growled in his ear and let his elongated canines brushed along the tender flesh of Remy’s neck, sending a delicious ripple of fear through the man. “God, I hate it when you fucking beg,” he sneered. “When are you going to learn you _don’t_ say no to me?”

                Remy squirmed all the same and Victor grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and rolled him over so that he could see the man’s face. He knew Remy hated it, and that only excited the man’s brutal and sadistic tendencies, but despite the half hard bulge that was pressing against LeBeau’s sharp hip bone, raping the man was not on his agenda this morning.

                “I’ve got questions for you, LeBeau, so answer fast. What do you know about that Inn Keeper?”

                Remy’s red eyes widened for a moment and a new sort of fear rippled through him, perking Creed’s curiosity.

                “Nothing, M’sieur Creed. He is just a man. De Lady, she ask me keep him busy.”

                “He got in the way last night. You should have left him to me.”

                He bit Remy harshly on the collar, earning a strangled yelp from the man as the skin was broken and a little trickle of blood rushed around the ring of his neck, staining the blanket beneath him.

                “Desole, M’sieur…was only trying to…”

                “I _know_ what you were tryin’ to do, you little swamp rat. You fancy him. He got any idea what you are? You have any idea what _he_ is?”

                Remy shook his head faintly.

                Creed backed off him slightly, though he gave Remy no leverage to move, sitting on his hips while his hands still pinned his wrists above him. “Didn’t figure. You really are stupider than you look. Guess it’s a good thing you’re pretty.” He leaned down and licked the blood from the man’s neck, moving his hot tongue up along his chin and jaw before pressing a forceful kiss to his lips, and Remy moaned in disgust at the taste of his own blood on the man’s tongue.

                Victor sat back then, and stared to move off the bed, leaving Remy trembling and panting in the wake, only to turn around in an instant and belt the man hard across the face; once, twice, three times and throwing him to the floor where he laid stunned from the blows.

                He moved around the little bed, standing over his downed subordinate and grinning at the pain he had caused him. He gave him a vicious kick that earned another yelp from the man and sent him curling into a ball to protect himself.

                “You just keep to the plan like Raven told ya. And you don’t get in our way. You understand that?”

                “Oui, m’sieur…” Remy whispered from the floor.

                Victor ran one of his hands through the man’s coppery brown hair. “Good boy.” He grinned. He kicked him again just to hear him cry out and then stalked away back out the door.

 

**

 

                Jubilee had heard the cry from the foot of the steps and it made her pause. She was used to all sorts of noise coming from the Inn’s guests, some drunken rantings, some lurid moans and groans, some bawdy conversations and insatiable laughter. But she also knew the sound of trouble.

                She glanced back at the busy dining area. Most of the patrons were finishing up their meals and just taking their time with their drinks and their company. Bobby, whom she had managed to wrangle for an hour or two while he was in town and not at the ranch, had the bar taken care of.

                She crept up the stairs, ears perked and listening. She made to turn down the hall when she saw a fearsome looking man stalking towards her and she quickly ducked into an empty room and watched him pass. She hadn’t seen him here before, yet she gathered this must have been the other man that came in on the train with Remy and the two women.

                Jubilee didn’t have Logan’s abilities. She couldn’t scent the man, or she would have smelled blood on him. She couldn’t read minds, and if she had, she would probably be screaming. But she didn’t need any of those unusual powers to know this man was deadly and she needed to stay far away from him.

                He loped past her and made his way down the stairs towards the saloon, the old wood beneath his boots creaking in distress under his hulking form. Breathing heavily she waited until the sound of his jingling spurs had died off before stepping back out into the hall and hurrying towards her room.

                It was then she passed the room where Mr. LeBeau was staying and saw that it was also ajar. She heard a faint whimper from inside, and forgot about her own terror for a moment, pausing to look inside.

                “Mr. Lebeau!” she gasped, seeing the man trying, somewhat in vain, to pick himself off the floor. She hurried in and got her hands under his arms, helping to hoist him up as the man wheezed and groaned, holding his ribs.

                “Petite?” he panted, blinking up at her in surprise. He grasped her arm worriedly as she laid him onto the bed again. “What are you doin’ here, chil’? Hurry, don’t let ‘im see you!”

                “Let _who_ see me?” she puzzled. “Did that creep do this to you? The one with the fur coat?!”

                Remy shook his head, but seemed to be having trouble getting words out. Jubilee scowled towards the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll go down and get Doc McCoy and he’ll get the Sheriff—“

                “Non!” Remy yanked her back harshly, staring up at her urgently. “Never you mind, petite…never you mind it.”

                “But you’re hurt. And bleeding…” she looked worriedly at the wound on his throat that looked like he had suffered an animal bite. She stood up and went over to the wash bowl, grabbing a towel and wetting it before returning to his side and pressing the cool cloth to his wound. Remy sighed gratefully from his crumpled position on the bed.

                “Logan’s really strict about fighting around here. When he comes back, I’ll make sure he kicks that guy out.”

                “You can’t say not’ing to him, cherie. Promise me. It will only bring him trouble if you do. Remy fine, really.”

                “You’re a really bad liar.” she sighed and he almost laughed. “Do you know that man?” she asked then, tentatively.

                Remy nodded faintly.

                “Does he…hurt you a lot?”

                Remy didn’t answer her but instead gave her another of his charming smiles and squeezed her hand. “You a kind soul, petite. I hope you stay dat way. World needs more kind people, to be sure.” He glanced at the door, almost afraid Victor would return, yet knowing he wouldn’t. “You should go on back to your work. Don’t want your Pa to be angry.”

                But Jubilee only shook her head stubbornly. “Not getting rid of me that easy. Come on, why don’t you come back to the apartment with me. You can teach me black jack like you promised last night.”

                Remy considered, then nodded slowly. “You don’ t’ink Logan will mind?”

                “Not at all.” She grinned.

 

***


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

***

 

                Logan made his way to the jailhouse, just a mile North of his Inn. Once it had been a one room building, capable of holding no more than two men in a cell. Now it was twice as large and provided housing for not only those incarcerated but also the Sheriff and his deputies.

                On the large wooden porch he could see one man already on watch, absently whittling on a bit of scrap wood. His eyes looked up to greet the dark haired man as he approached, and he pushed up the brim of his hat and smiled faintly.

                “Morning, Logan. This is a surprise.” Sheriff Summers said.

                Logan stopped a few steps in front of him, just in front of the porch, and shoved his hands into his pockets, staring grumpily at the man. “Good to see you’re hard at work.” He grunted at him.

                The other man, who was tall and leaner and strongly built looked down at the shorter man, his squared jaw set in its usual firm lines. He seemed your average do-gooder, all classically handsome looks that were generally pleasing but not especially impressive. What was different about the man was that he wore a strange pair of red tinted goggles, the kind Logan had only seen in places like New York in displays about flying machines. They had been specially made; a sort of invention dreamt up by the Mayor, in an effort to contain the Sherriff’s own unique mutation. The ability to create a burning optic beam, which could level a building and kill a normal man. Needless to say, crime had gone down in Tull considerably since Scott had become Sheriff.

                “Friendly as ever,” Scott retorted with a sigh. “Something I can help you with?”

                Logan tried to keep his dislike for the man in check, knowing he would need his help this time. “Came about the visitors that came in on the train the other night. You seen ‘em?”

                “Can’t say that I have. But have heard some gossip. Thought they were staying at your place?”

                “They are. But they give me a bad feeling. Wonder if you’d come down and maybe have a look, see if any of them look familiar.”

                The brown haired man blinked behind his goggles. “Well, I’d be happy to oblige, but perhaps you’d best take it up with my guest first.” He turned back towards the door just as another man made his presence known. Logan didn’t know him either. He was shorter than Summers and nearly as broad in the back and shoulders as Logan himself, but he looked twice as mean. He had the dark tan of a man who spent his days riding, and his clothes spoke the same, raw-hide chaps and thick spurred boots on his legs and feet. He wore a long coat, adorned with a bright silver star. This one was a Ranger, a man that could either be a boon or curse depending on his character.

                “Ranger Cable, this is Logan Howlett, proprietor of our local Inn and Saloon. Think you could assist him with his concerns?”

                Logan didn’t like the smell of the man, and when he looked at him he could see that he was man who had killed before and was no stranger to violence. The man named Cable stepped down so that he was closer to the Inn Keeper and eyed him carefully. “So you got trouble with a pack of vagabonds? What makes ya think they’re dangerous?”

                “They don’t sit right to me. There’s one of them that goes by the name Victor Darkholm. He nearly killed me last night when I passed him in the street.”

                At this Sheriff Summer startled. “What? Logan, why didn’t you say something?”

                “Darkholm, you say?” The man pulled a bit of rolled up parchment from his coat pocket and held it out to the other man. “Look a might familiar?”

                Logan stared down at a wanted poster containing four sketches. Each face was slightly different, but he recognized them all for who they were. Lady Darkholm, her insidious husband Victor, and the girl they called Ann Marie. His eyes lingered longest over the final sketch. The face was obscured by a handkerchief, but even in the crude rendering he recognized those demon eyes. The name below it was one he didn’t recognize. “Gambit” it read, along with a list of charges. Larceny, bank robbery, accomplice to murder and desertion.

                Logan felt his insides grow cold and he frowned sadly, brushing his finger tips lightly over the face. He should have known better. _He should have known better!_

                “Mr. Howlett? Are these the people you’re having trouble with?” the Ranger asked.

                Logan paused, then folded the parchment and handed it back. “No, sorry Ranger.”

                Both men eyed him curiously. “Well then, I can come down and have a look anyway. I’d like to meet this man you say attacked you.”

                “He ain’t at the Inn, already looked for him this morning. His wife said he had business in town with a buyer. Doesn’t give a lot of details, that one. Maybe if you start asking around, you’ll get a lead.”

                “Alright, I’ll do that.”

                He turned, hands shoved in his pockets once more and started away. “Logan,” the Sheriff called after him. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate. You got Jubilee to think about, remember.”

                “I don’t need you to remind me of what I got to think about, Sheriff.” He shot back, storming away, scowling ahead of himself.

                The Ranger watched him go, eyes squinting in the bright morning sunlight. “He knows something.” He muttered to the Sheriff.

                “Logan’s an honest man, Ranger. Maybe I don’t care for the man, but I’d still trust him with my life.”

 

**

 

                When he returned to the Saloon it was almost noon. He’d taken the long way, needing to think, needing to walk off some of his anger and confusion. It hadn’t helped however, he was still boiling as he rumbled through the swinging door like an oncoming storm.

                Luckily, there was almost no one to see him. The place had emptied, since lunch would not be served for another hour, and the only soul around was Bobby, who was cleaning dishes. He looked up, rather startled at the murderous expression on Logan’s face.

                “Mr. Howlett? You alright?”

                “What the hell are you doing back there?” Logan barked at the kid. “Where’s Jubilee? She run off again?”

                “She’s, uh, upstairs.”

                He snorted like a bull and marched towards the stairs. “Go on, get outta here kid, sure you’re Pa is waiting for ya back at the ranch and I don’t need to hear any of shit for keepin’ ya too long.”

                “A-alright, sir!” the boy gasped before rounding the counter and taking off out the door. Logan looked at the glasses he’d been handling and saw that they were frosted white and brittle. He’d scared the kid into using his powers. He’d apologize later. Right now he had business with a certain lying, no account drifter who called himself “Gambit.”

                Upon reaching the second landing, Logan glowered at the door where he knew Remy was staying. He saw that it was open just a crack, and stomped towards it, grabbing the knob and throwing it open, only to earn a thunderous crack as it whipped around and struck the wall on the other side, leaving a sizable dent in the wall.

                But the Inn Keeper found himself staring at nothing but an empty room. A messy one at that. As he stood blinking, several smells reached him, none of he liked. He could smell that Victor had been here, and recently. The smell was on the bed sheets, mixing with Remy’s.

                But the Cajun’s scent was different. It was fear laced, tainted with sweat and the metallic tang of blood. Logan felt a hot knot of tension replace the burn of anger in his belly. He turned, sniffing the air like a blood hound. Darkholm’s scent was vanishing by degrees. He was no longer in the Inn. He didn’t sense the women either. But Remy’s smell was still close by.

                He followed it and found that it lead back to his own rooms. He wondered for a moment if he was confused and the scent wasn’t simply the lingering remains from this morning. He tested the knob and found it locked.

                “Jubilee, you in there, girl?”

                He heard her feet hit the floor and pad towards him. The tumblers turned over and she had barely cracked it when his hand pushed it wide and glared down at her. “What are you doing up here? You should be down—“

                He glanced up as Remy’s scent struck him powerfully. The Cajun was in his apartment, though he couldn’t see him. “Where is he?” he growled.

                The girl seemed shocked at Logan’s aggression, but pulled him inside, hurriedly closing and locking the door behind him. “Hush! You’ll wake him up.”

                “Good, I got words with him.” He muttered. “What the hell are you doing letting him in here anyway when I’m not around?”

                “Well you’re in a _mood_ ,” she retorted.

                “I got a right ta be, now _where is he_?”

                She clapped her hand over his mouth and he stared in shock and would have smacked her if he wasn’t so damn surprised at her nerve.

                “Will you quit your growling for one minute and listen to me! It’s important! You gotta call the Sheriff!”

                Logan removed her hand, “Why?” he asked, more evenly this time. Had Remy done something, tried something? He didn’t seem the type that would hurt a girl like Jubilee, but right now Logan simply didn’t know what to think.

                “That man, the one that came with him on the train, the big one, he hurt Remy. Roughed him up bad. You gotta call Sheriff Summers to arrest him before he comes back!”

                “Hurt him how?” Logan pressed, suddenly more worried than angry. He didn’t wait for the girl to answer, he was following Remy’s scent into his own bedroom. He found the man lying on his bed, apparently asleep or unconscious.

                He could see the angry red wound on the man’s throat at Jubilee had clumsily attempted to cover with some bandages. His shirt was unbuttoned and lying opened, revealing the man’s naked torso, which was covered with dark purple bruises along his right side. His face was battered as well, and there was a growing welt on the man’s cheek that was nearly the size of an apple, and the swelling only seemed to exaggerate the bloody tear in the man’s upper lip.

                _“Shit._ ” Logan cursed, moving towards the man. Remy didn’t move or respond when he sat down beside him, nor even when he touched his hair. He was definitely unconscious.

                “Go get Doc, right now.” He muttered to her without looking away from the man. Jubilee nodded and started to turn but Logan reached out and caught her hand.

                “Jubes, you did the right thing bringing him in here. Sorry I snapped at ya.”

                “You’re all bark, old man. I don’t mind.” She kissed his nose.

                “You be careful. You see that Darkholm fella or those women, you turn and run the other way, understand?”

                “I’ll give ‘em what they deserve.” She answered tersely, and she showed him that she had gun stashed into her belt. He yanked it away. “Little girls don’t need guns!”

                “They do around here!” she yelled back, stomping her foot. On the bed Remy moaned quietly. Logan shoed her away and tossed the gun into the bedside drawer, turning his attentions to LeBeau.

                Slowly the demon eyes fluttered open again and came to focus on his face. The man emitted a tiny little gasp, jotling a little, but Logan steadied him, pressing his palm against his cheek.

                “Logan,” the man breathed, and the dark haired man shuddered at the way it rolled of his tongue in that breathless manner. “Remy glad to see you.”

                “That your real name?” Logan quipped, the gentleness gone from his voice, though it remained soft. “Or do you prefer _Gambit?_ ”

                Remy’s eyes widened and whatever relief was there suddenly vanished, replaced by fear. He sunk back into the blanket as though he would retreat there and turned his face away from Logan’s palm. “How’d you find out?” he whispered.

                “You got a damn Texas Ranger out there looking for you and your sorry lot. I oughta turn ya over, still might, unless you start talkin’. _Right now._ ”

                Remy’s eyes flashed with terror in a way that Logan had never seen. Part of him wanted immediately to back off the man, appalled that he had caused such an emotion in the other, but the other more stubborn part of him pushed the urge away. He needed answers.

                Remy licked his lips nervously, “I am as I told you, M’sieur. Remy LeBeau, originally from N’Awlins, Louisiana. Traveler and card player by trade.”

                “And thief, outlaw, and bandit!” Logan snarled, grabbing a handful of Remy’s hair and forcing him back into the bed. The man’s fear scent was pelting him, but he kept going. “What the fuck _are_ you, Cajun!?”

                Remy reached up and grabbed him then, and Logan stared at the man’s hand glowed brilliantly with bright fuchsia light. The next moment there was tiny explosion and Logan went flying backward, crashing into the wall before thudding to the ground, his chest charred and smoking.

                The man on the bed shouted in terror and lept up, running over to him. “Non, non, _non!_ Desole, Logan I’m so--!”

                He was suddenly seized by the throat and hurled to the floor, his head cracking against the floor board and making white dots blink in front of his vision as a vicious hand squeezed his throat until he couldn’t breathe. He clawed at it, struggling in vain. Logan leaned over him, his eyes dark and wild like an animal’s, teeth bared. Remy had seen that expression before, but on a very different face. He almost screamed to see it on the man he had fallen so hard and so suddenly for.

                He tried to squirm away only to see Logan curl back his fist. Remy thought he was about to punch him, but instead something more terrifying happened. From between the man’s knuckles emerged three long blades which glinted in the light from the window. Logan bellowed as he thrust the blades forward and buried them into the floorboards next to the man’s head.

                Remy’s eyes stayed fixed on his, wide and frightened, until they began to blur and roll up into his head, unable to get any air. Only then did Logan snap out of his feral state, his hand immediately relinquishing its crushing grip on the southerner’s throat. Remy gasped softly and slumped, unconscious once more beneath him.

                Logan’s claws retracted into his flesh once more as he crouched trembling over the man, horrified at his own actions. “Oh God…oh Jesus… _Remy_ …!”

                He gathered the limp and battered man up in his arms and hugged him tightly, finding himself shaking all over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry _, I’m so sorry_ …” he lamented over and over again, cradling the man’s head against his. He felt angry tears stinging his eyes as he cursed himself and the murderous animal inside him that rendered him less than human.

                Carefully he gathered the other man’s long body in his arms and sat with him on the edge of the bed, listening as his thread breathes slowly eased into deeper, easier ones. Logan decided then that it didn’t matter what Remy was, or what he had done in his past. He was no man to judge. Not after this, especially.

                Darkholm had battered the man, and that meant that he must have done something to anger him. Logan guessed it was because he had stopped to help him after the other had left him for dead. Remy had gone against his gang, if indeed that’s what these people were to him, to help _him_ ; a man who meant nothing to him.

                Logan sobbed loudly and it was a bitter, angry sound. He had sworn to himself that he would never become that animal again. He wasn’t that beast anymore. And now he had to prove it.

                He kissed Remy’s battered cheek softly and tucked him back into the bed, rising only to gather supplies from the medicine cabinet and minister to the wounds on the man as best he could before Hank arrived.

 

***


	7. Chapter 7

 

***

               

                Logan paced restlessly. Doc McCoy had already been with Remy for almost an hour, but had not said a word. From her perch at the window, Jubilee took turns watching outside and watching him.

                Finally he stopped, angrily turning over the little table in the middle of the room that they would eat off of, sending it crashing the floor with a yell. Jubilee tensed and Logan couldn’t even look back at her. Instead he just sagged to his knees, head in hands, and a made a mournful little sound.

                The girl scrambled up from her place and came over to him, draping herself across his back and hugging him warmly, one hand in his hair as he had so often done to her. “Shh,” she cooed. “It’s alright.”

                “You shouldn’t be here, girl,” he mumbled to her, feeling low as he had in years. “I ain’t no good for ya. No good for anyone. What do I know about takin’ care of anybody?”

                “You take care of me fine. And you’re lookin’ after him now too. So quit your belly-achin’.” She kissed his cheek and Logan held her tightly. She was so much more than he deserved, the daughter he would never have.

                Hank emerged from the bedroom then, and gave the pair an assuring little nod. “He’s in no danger. Two of his ribs are fractured, and the bruising on his back and sides are concerning to me, so I’ll want you to keep him in bed for a day or two. The other hurts will subside in day or so.” He turned his gaze directly to Logan.

                “The punctures on his neck look…almost animalistic. What exactly happened to this young man?”

                “That creep Darkholm—“

                “Quiet, darlin’.” Logan shushed her, standing up. He moved closer to McCoy, “I need you to go get the Sheriff for me. I’m probably gonna need him if this guy comes back.”

                Hank nodded, “Alright, Logan. I’ll go at once.”

                “Jubes, you stay up here and keep an eye on LeBeau. I got something to take care of.”

                The girl nodded obediently as the two men made their way out of the room. Hank walked ahead and turned and noted that Logan was marching towards another door along the corridor. He took a skeleton key from his pocket, jammed it into the lock without knocking and threw the door open. From the lack of noise from inside, he gathered it was empty.

                The short man stormed inside, and grabbed up every personal belonging he could find. Bags and bags of luggage, mostly belonging to the women. He threw them all unceremoniously out into the corridor, not caring if they spilled open. Hank watched in stunned silence as the man cleared the room and then remerged, carrying two pistols and a shot gun, which he had found hidden under the bed.

                “Oh my!”

                “Grab a handful, would ya?” he muttered to the Doctor, who obliged by gathering up two arm loads of luggage, leaving Logan the rest, and moving downstairs with them. They stormed through the saloon, which was starting to fill up again. The eyes of the patrons followed them with hushed curiosity as the two hulking men reached the front door. Logan threw the contents in his arms out into the street with a snarl, and Hank let them rest drop onto the porch.

                “HEY!” a voice rose from the street. Logan turned to see the younger girl, named Ann Marie and better known in her wanted poster as Rogue, rushing towards the porch. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

                Logan grabbed another bag and hurled it down the steps, letting it spill into the dirt road and soak in mud puddle. The girl shrieked as she tried to pull her clothing from the dirt before it was ruined, and he looked on without pity.

                “Consider yerselves evicted from the premises, miss,” he replied. “Ye ain’t welcomed here anymore.”

                “You low brow little—“ she snarled up at him, hands shaking. “These dresses are worth more than your life!”

                “That so?” he asked. He picked up the shot gun he had found in her room and took aim at the silk fabric gathered in her hands. She shrieked and dropped it as he fired a round into it, effectively destroying it with buckshot.

                She screamed, partly out of fear and partly out of rage, as the other woman, Lady Darkholm came rounding the corner, staring wide eyed at the man on the porch, holding her own gun.

                “What is going on here?” she demanded, her voice thick and dangerous.

                “Yer husband committed a crime on my property,” he replied bluntly. “He assaulted a man. That’s against my rules, and the town’s. You take your trash and get off my property, and if husband’s any kind of man, which I doubt, he’ll show his face and take responsibility.”

                “And who exactly is he supposed to have assaulted?” Raven muttered, coming to stand at the foot of the steps while the girl looked nervously between the two.

                “Remy LeBeau.”

                The red haired woman’s eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched bitterly. But behind her, the girl looked up in shock and Logan thought he even saw worry in her eyes.

                “That man ain’t no business of yours,” her mother said slowly. “You turn the lair over to me and we’ll settle things our way.”

                Logan leveled the shot gun at her head. “He ain’t goin’ anywhere with you, ma’am.”

                “You’re making a big mistake, Bar Keeper. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” She warned.

                “But _I_ do.” Another voice announced itself from the street. They all turned to see Sheriff Summers riding swiftly to the scene. Still astride his horse he came alongside the porch, his own gun in hand, and glared down at the women from behind his goggles.

                “Raven Darkholm, originally of New York, wanted for murder, fraud, larceny, and stage coach robbery.” Sheriff Summers stated, reading off the list of charges on the wanted poster. His gaze flickered to the girl, “Ann Marie Darkholm, better known as Rogue, accomplice to murder, fraud, multiple counts of robbery and the sole suspect in four suspicious deaths involving recently married men.”

                The girl looked frantically to her mother, “Mama! What do we do?”

                “You can start by telling me where Victor Creed is,” Scott answered. “And then you can come along quietly.”

                “Unlikely.” Raven sneered. Her skin rippled and returned to it’s natural blue scaly state. She leapt at Logan who raised his gun to strike her down, only to have Hank move in front of him, roaring like a lion and knock the woman aside with one powerful swipe of his own beastly hands.

                She recovered quickly however, launching another attack as Sheriff Summers shot at her as well, managing to catch her in the leg. Logan made to pounce on her, only to have the girl grab at him, pulling one of her long gloves before grabbing his arm with her bare hand.

                Logan gasped as he suddenly felt a pull of energy from his body, like the girl was trying to suck the life right out of him. He wavered and dropped to his knees, staring at her with wide eyes. She stared back, clearly hating what she was doing, but unable to stop.

                Hank grabbed the girl by the other arm then and tore her away from him, sending flipping back down the stairs. But instead of falling into the dirt, the young woman rose in the air, swooping down to gather up her injured kin before taking off into the air.

                McCoy crouched next to Logan on the steps, supporting him on one of his thick arms. “My friend, are you alright?!” he gasped.

                Logan nodded in a daze, feeling weak and shaky. “What the hell did she do to me?” he mumbled.

                “Take him inside, Hank.” Scott ordered then, dismounting and turning to the other gawking townsfolk. “Go on about your business! Nothing to see here!”

                Logan struggled to his feet, but McCoy lifted him easily and carried him in doors, setting him down on one of the old wooden chairs and fetching a pitch of water for the man. Logan tried to shake off the effects of the girl’s touch, and by degrees he came back to himself. He supposed he had his healing factor to thank for that.

                Scott came in behind them, looking at the Inn Keeper with concern. “Did you know?”

                “Know what?” he spat at him.

                “That they were mutants?”

                “Ain’t just about everyone who comes to this fuckin’ town?” the shorter man grumbled as Hank checked his pulse and poked and prodded at him.

                “Logan, don’t talk,” the doctor chided him. “Your vital signs are practically those of a man who’s just suffered a stroke, you need to be still.”

                “I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just give me a minute.”

                Scott sighed, hands on his belt, and cast a worried gaze out the door again. “What about the other two?” he asked.

                “No sign of Darkholm or Creed, whatever he’s called. LeBeau is upstairs.”

                Scott nodded and made to move towards the steps, but Logan reached out and caught his arm. “Don’t you touch him.”

                “Logan, he’s a criminal. I need to take him, for questioning if nothing else. And I’m sure the Ranger will want to talk to him as well.”

                “He ain’t like them,” the Inn Keeper insisted. “When the other fella tried to kill me the other night he stepped in and got me home. Creed beat the shit out of him for it too. Don’t care what the fuckin’ piece of paper in your hand says about ‘im, you’re not touchin’ him.”

                “You’re not above the law, Logan.” Scott warned.

                McCoy stepped in then, “I’m afraid, Sheriff, that Mr. LeBeau has taken some injuries. I can’t allow you to move him at this time or the fractures he’s suffered may become worse, possibly lethal. I don’t imagine he’ll be any good to us, or the Ranger, if he is deceased.”

                Scott sighed heavily and Logan could tell the man was losing his patience. “If this is some trick—“

                “You wanna go look at ‘im? Be my guest. But if you put a finger on him, I’ll leave ya with nothin’ but a stump. And you know I ain’t lyin’, Summers.”

                “Are you threatening me?”

                “Gentlemen, please!” McCoy pleaded, pushing the two men apart and nudging Scott back towards the door. “Please, Scott, you know Logan is very territorial.”

                “He’s an animal.”

                McCoy bristled, “Be that as it may, Sheriff, I think it best that cooler heads prevail. For the moment your suspect is quite incapacitated, I assure you, there is little chance that he will try to flee. I am far more worried about the rest of them causing damage to the town, and I think you should be too. Or should we bring the matter to Charles?”

                Scott frowned in Logan’s direction and then shook his finger at the doctor, “I’m going to get a posse together and try to catch these people before they leave town. In the meantime I want a guard posted here to make sure this LeBeau character doesn’t try to escape.”

                “I think we should be more concerned about someone trying to silence him.” Hank replied. “You saw that woman’s reaction when Logan told her about him. They’ll be out for blood.”

                Scott considered this for a moment and then turned towards the door, letting it swing behind him as he made his way out onto the porch again.

                “Ah fuck ‘im.” Logan grunted, slowly pushing himself up. Hank hovered around him, but Logan seemed steady enough for the moment.

                “He’s only doing what he believes is best, my friend. You would be wrong to ignore his warnings.”

                “Remy ain’t gonna hurt me.” He muttered, feeling another twinge of guilt in his chest over earlier events.

                “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

                Logan stilled, saying nothing. Hank settled his hand upon his shoulder, “I’m happy for you, my friend. You have been lonely too long.”

                “Yeah well…don’t count your chicken’s before they hatch, Hank. I ain’t exactly deserving of the man’s affections. Right now his forgiveness is all I can hope for. Scott’s right…maybe I am just an animal.”

                “Between you and me, my friend, Scott’s an idiot.”

 

**

               

                When Remy started to stir again, it was dark outside. It had gotten cold that night, and Logan had closed the windows that had been open before dusk, and instead started tossing logs into the pot belly stove in the main room of the apartment.

                The copper haired man opened his eyes, greeted by the dim light of the oil lamp next to Logan’s bed and the flickering light against the bedroom door that came from the fire. There was the low persistent squeak of a rocking chair and the baritone hum of the Inn Keeper.

                He was afraid to move, and his body even less eager as it ached and twinged with various hurts, but his eyes flickered in the direction of the singing. Logan had brought the rocker into the bed room and was sitting at the foot of the bed, smoking a pipe and humming as he stared out the window. Remy thought he knew the song from somewhere, but his head was hazy and pounding.

                He wondered then if this was some sort of dream he was having, since the last time he had seen Logan the man had been trying strangle him while simultaneously threatening to drive three impossible blades through his head.

                The dark haired man must have noticed a change in his breathing then for he stopped his long gaze out the window and turned his attention to Remy once more. The man in the bed flinched as he rose from the chair, and Logan paused, slowly easing himself back down.

                “It’s alright…I’ll stay put, if that makes ya feel safer.”

                Remy said nothing, slowly pushing himself up in the sheets until he was tentatively propped against the old pine headboard. His ribs throbbed at the movement and he hissed in agony. He glanced down and found that he had been changed out of his soiled shirt and his wounds were tightly and expertly bound and cleaned. Even the throbbing ache and swelling in his cheek seemed to have gone down.

                “Had a doctor come up and have a look at ya. Ya got a busted rib or two, some deep bruising in your back that’ll hurt for a time. But you’ll be alright, with a little rest.” He explained.

                “Why…?” Remy asked, his voice small and very unlike his usual self.

                “Cause you were hurtin’. And I made that hurt worse. And I’m sorry.” The dark haired man mumbled. “Shouldn’t have come at ya like that. It weren’t right, no matter if ya lied to me or not.”

                “Remy didn’t lie, M’sieur,” the other man answered, “just didn’t tell ya de details.”

                “Pretty big details.” Logan retorted.

                The demon eyed man narrowed his gaze at the other, “You got some pretty big ‘details’ you hiding too, homme.” His gaze lingered over Logan’s hands nervously and the Inn Keeper sighed.

                “Yeah. Guess ya got me there.” He looked down at the backs of his hands, flexing his fingers faintly. “I haven’t used ‘em. Not in a long time. Swore I wouldn’t, not after the war.”

                “Remy made you break your promise. You must have been mighty angry…or scared, maybe?”

                “Both. Truth is, Cajun, you scare the hell outta me. I thought you were just a dream, and then you show up on my doorstep the next day, flesh and blood with those eyes and that god damn smile…”

                “’A dream’?” Remy repeated tentatively. “You dream about me?”

                “Yeah. The night you came in. Don’t know why.” He looked out the window again and bristled faintly in the chill.

                Remy followed his gaze and then suddenly tensed, trying to sit further up in the bed, but failing miserably. “I got to go! Dey find me here, it be trouble for you and de girl--!”

                “Quiet, shh!” Logan hushed him, moving from the chair at last and putting a hand on Remy’s shoulder, pushing him back gently against the pillows. “Nobody’s gonna come for ya tonight, Cajun. I threw that lot out a while ago, and the Sheriff was there to enforce it. They won’t trouble you, so long as you’re here.”

                But instead of easing Remy’s mind this seemed to only frighten him further. “Non, what have you done!? Dey come for me now for sure, dey _kill_ me! T’ink I ratted dem out!”

                “Steady, s _teady_ darlin’! That Thug comes anywhere near you again and he’ll get my claws. Now I’m makin a promise to ya, here and now. Won’t let anyone hurt you, so long as you don’t lie to me and you give up this thieving life you’re living. It ain’t no way to spend the little time we got, understand?”

                “Remy don’t understand,” the Cajun panted, sweat beading his forehead from the pain and tension brought up by the struggle. “Why you want ta help me? Little while ago you want ta kill me.”

                Remy saw the answer in Logan’s eyes, but he almost couldn’t believe it, until the shorter man leaned over him and pressed a kiss to his lips. Remy gasped slightly against him but relaxed a moment later when Logan put a calming hand on his knee. The man’s stubble was bristly and ached a little against his injured lips, but he didn’t care. The kiss was warm and tentative, firm but not demanding. Remy hadn’t been kissed like this before, like he was something to be cherished.

                Logan pulled back a moment later, and his eyes were hungry and longing, searching Remy’s for some reaction, some hope of forgiveness. The Cajun reached up a hand drew him back, kissing him in return and inviting the man to settle closer to him. Logan moaned in his mouth softly and Remy felt a flutter in his stomach.

                The shorter man heard an approach but was reluctant to release the Cajun until he heard a little chuckle from the door way that made him mewl mournfully for the loss of contact and glower at Hank, who appeared in the entrance.

                “Forgive the interruption, gentlemen. Only checking in on our patient.” He said, all smiles. Remy stared at the man.

                “C’est incredible! You more beast den man, M’sieur! And _blue!_ ”

                “Well, it’s good to see there hasn’t been any damage to your vision or your logic, Mr. LeBeau.” Hank answered, moving into the room with his little black doctor bag in tow.

                “Desole, doctor. You just…startled me.” Remy amended.

                “Completely understandable, my friend. Now, if your host will graciously move aside, I’d like to check those ribs.”

                “Come back later, Hank.” Logan grumbled.

                “Your amorous advances, sweet though they are, will have to wait. Our friend’s welfare comes first.”

                Logan was hesitant to move, still protectively crouched over Remy, but the Cajun laid his hand over his, “It’s s’alright, cher. I’m not goin’ nowhere.”

                The other man blinked. “What did you call me?”

                Remy almost blushed, “Uh, ‘cher’? It means dear, or honey, or friend. Whatever you like. Sorry, I won’t—“

                “No,” Logan cut in. “I like the way you say it.”

                Hank chuckled and gave Logan a little push out of the room, shaking his head. “I guess you don’t have to worry about him returning your affections.”

                Logan rolled his eyes, and knowing Remy was in capable hands, turned his attentions elsewhere. He made his way downstairs to the Saloon to find Jubilee crouched below a window, a riffle in her hand. Bobby was beside her, watching outside.

                “Some gunslingers you are,” he grunted at them, moving towards the door and peering out. Sheriff Summers was outside, practically standing guard at the door, his own six shooter ready to fire. Alongside him were his deputies, a tall Russian nicknamed by the town as “Colossus” and a blonde named Warren.

                “They’ve got the place covered, kids. I think you can give it a rest.”

                “I don’t know, Mr. Howlett,” Bobby answered dubiously. “That woman looked like she was going to rip your lungs out when you tossed her luggage out on the steps this afternoon.”

                “They try to come in here after the Cajun and they’ll get more than what they bargained for, I promise ya. Sheriff’s got this place covered, and last anyone saw they were seeking refuge at Emma’s. Of course she would take ‘em in.”

                “Why doesn’t the Mayor tell ‘em to leave?” Jubilee asked.

                “Good question, darlin’.” Logan sighed, closing the thin little curtains that obscured the windows from view, leaving the Sheriff a darkening shadow outside. “Bobby, are you in for the night? You can have one of the extra beds upstairs. Place is practically empty after that mess.”

                “Thanks Mr. Howlett.” He nodded.

                He nodded, and shoed the two of them on upstairs, taking up his own seat by the window, not knowing what the rest of the night might bring.

 

***


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

               

                He kept watch until the wee hours of the night, in the thick dark just before dawn. But there came no sign of Creed or the Darkholms. Finally, Logan stepped outside to speak with the Sheriff. The wind blew cold and made him shiver in spite of himself. He was a man built for harsh climates, but the desert’s constant swing between scorching and freezing threw him at times.

                Sheriff Summers turned to look at him from his post at the steps, huddled into his own coat for warmth. “Something the matter?” he asked, voice creaking for little use.

                Logan lifted his face to the wind and sniffed like a hound again, but there was no hint of their enemy. He shook his head, “They’re not here. Not close anyway. Might be lurking on the outskirts, or are staying holed up in the whorehouse.”

                “Or they may have left town already.”

                Logan nodded, but continued to frown, knowing better.

                Scott looked at him carefully, “You’re sure about LeBeau? What if he turns on you?”

                “Then I’ll deal with him.”

                “What if you can’t?”

                Logan looked at him seriously. “If _I_ can’t handle him, Sheriff, then we’re all good as fucked.”

                The other man almost smiled. “Alright, have your way.”

                The Inn Keeper nodded and bid him good night, turning back to the Inn and locking the doors behind him. Scott moved off down the porch, more than likely to consort with his deputies. Logan trekked up the stairs, back to the warmth of the little apartment. Inside, he found Jubilee asleep in her own bed. He tucked the quilt around her and shut her door before turning to his own bedroom, where Remy was still recovering.

                He was surprised then, even flat out startled, to see that Remy was no longer in the bed at all, but standing at the window, watching the street below. All he wore at the moment were his black trousers that seemed too tight on his long legs. His chest and feet were bare, the only securing factor being the thick gauzy wrappings Hank had adorned his lean and muscular torso with.

                “What are you doing?” Logan gasped, suddenly finding his mouth was dry. Remy looked over his shoulder at him and gave a wry smile.

                “Same as you, I suppose, watchin’ for trouble.”

                “You should be in bed,” Logan chided him, taking his wrist and trying to usher him back down onto the mattress. Remy resisted, but only just and groaned a little when the man pushed him down onto the mattress.

                Logan hesitated, obviously nervous and worried. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m not exactly the gentle type.”

                The other man smiled up at him kindly however, brushing a hand along his arm. “Oh, Remy t’ink you just fine de way ye are, cher.”

                But Logan looked mournfully at the bruises he’d left on the man’s throat which were angry blue and black now, and had to look away. “Ye don’t need to worry. There’s been no sign of Creed or the Darkholms. Maybe you got lucky and they skipped town without you.”

                “Hmm, don’t know ‘bout dat,” the man with the demon eyes replied, eyes once more on the window. “T’ink dey bidin’ dere time. Got other fish to fry just now. Maybe Creed t’ink you’ll turn me over to de Rangers and be done w’it it.” He flicked a little glance in Logan’s direction, and the other mutant could tell he was concerned that this might still be the case, despite the moment they had shared.

                “You’re stayin here, where I can keep an eye on ya.” The dark haired man replied, hooking his thumbs through the loops of his belt.

                Remy’s smile grew. “Maybe I _didn’t_ imagine dat kiss before.”

                Logan leaned down close to him and Remy leaned back to accommodate him, though it ached him to do so. “Weren’t no daydream, Cajun. Need me ta prove it to ya?”

                “Oui,” Remy whispered back.

                He leaned in again tentatively and stole another kiss from the man’s lips, feeling a bit like a thief himself. Remy sighed at the contact, pulling him in closer again. Logan went, easing himself over top of the man, careful not to put any weight on his injured torso as Remy went back on his elbows with Logan’s short thick frame straddling him.

                Remy brushed the tip of his tongue over Logan’s lips, teasing him, and the bigger man moaned, leaning down to deepen the kiss, wanting, _needing_ more. He eased the longer man back to lie beneath him, allowing him to rest his battered body while he did all the work.

The Cajun raked his long fingers through Logan’s thick black hair and caressed the back of his neck, splaying them across the thick expanse of his naked shoulders. Silently he cursed his busted ribs and the haze of the morphine that was still in his system and wished he could take things further.

Remy lifted a hand and brushed it against Logan’s rough cheek, and the other man caught it gently and nuzzled it. “Didn’t know you could do all that; the little trick you did before with the lightning.”

                “Not lightnin’,” Remy answered. “It’s some sort of energy. I’ve had it since I was a pup. I went to a doctor once, who tried to explain it. But he wanted to find a way to take it out of me, so I never went back.”

                “Wise choice. Normal people, they’re just afraid. Can’t say as I blame ‘em. They’re afraid of everything.”

                “You tell de truth, homme.” The copper haired man sighed. He gave Logan a scrutinizing little glance then, red irises slipping towards the man’s hand. “Show me again.”

                “No,” Logan replied firmly, but gently. “They ain’t for display.”

                “Does it hurt?”

                “Sure it does. Not the point. Those blades have more blood on ‘em than you can imagine. They’re only good for killing.”

                “Non, cher. Dey part of you, and you’re not a killer. Not like Creed. You a protector.”

                Logan seemed startled by this idea, as no one had ever suggested such a thing to him, not even Xavier, who knew his power well and always encouraged restraint. “You assume a lot of things about me, son. That could be dangerous.”

                “Remy take his chances.”

                “Why me, kid? After what I done to ya…” He looked away in shame, but Remy drew him back, taking his face between his hands.

                “Dere’s somet’ing else I can do. I can feel what other people feel; can make dem feel what I feel too.”

                “You’re an empath?” Logan inquired.

                The other man nodded. “Not an especially good one, mind you, but oui. And I knew you were a good soul de moment I laid eyes on you.”

                “Now you’re just tryin’ ta sweet talk me.”

                Remy chuckled but the action made him wince. Logan climbed off him and settled beside him on the bed. A moment passed between them without words, the two men lying close and comfortable on the sheets, both warm and tired but wired with curiosity and the restlessness of uncertainty.

                “Why’d you take up with Creed and his lot?”

                LeBeau turned his eyes away and shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes…a man has to make ugly choices, just to live long enough to make another. You understand?”

                Again, the dark haired man nodded and curled a little closer to him. Remy tensed, just a little, not used this kind of intimacy. “It was January when I left de Army. We were past the Northern line, somewhere in Virgina, and entrenched in some woods. We were starving and freezing, but if we tried to leave we’d be massacred. Mon frere had died de week before and…I couldn’t bear it no more. I left, managed to slip past dere snipers. Walked for a week in the cold until I couldn’t feel my feet no more.

                ‘Dat far North, no one would take me in, not wearing de South’s colors. And if that wasn’t enough ta scare ‘em, my eyes would send dem running and prayin’. No one wants a man w’it devil eyes. Stole some clothes off a clothesline at one point, but dey didn’t do much to keep me warm. Eventually…I came to town and was on my last legs, ready to fall over and die.

                ‘Creed found me den. Must have smelled blood in de water. He took me in, gave me food and shelter. Said he could use a man like me, with my _unique abilities_.”

                Logan saw the loathing in the man’s face and gripped his hand, trying to offer some solace. “I didn’t know den…didn’t know what he had in mind. I always thought I’d be safe w’it my own kind, dat another mutant would be understanding. He was worse den any hate monger I ever met. Broke me, turned me into his accomplice.”

                “Why didn’t you run?”

                “Tried. He had my scent after dat, could track me anywhere. First time I ran…” Remy gave a visible shudder and Logan pulled him against him and quieted him. “Shh. I got ya.”

                He pressed his face against Logan’s warm neck and breathed in his smell. It was warm, thick with the smell of cedar and pine, sweat and cooking and a faint hint of something metallic like blood or gun metal. His eyes felt heavy and wanted to close, he could have dropped off to sleep right there and been perfectly content. But another troublesome thought had risen to the surface of his mind and he pulled away.

                Outside the sky was still dark but had the palest tint of grey. It would be dawn within the hour. “Dey haven’t left town. Not yet. Dey got a woman dey brought in on de train, and dey won’t leave until whatever business dey have w’it her is done.”

                “A woman?” Logan asked. “What does that mean?”

                “Not sure. Dey don’t give me more details den I need; always afraid I’m gonna undercut dere deal. Dey right about dat.” he smirked. “I t’ink we should go, see dis girl for ourselves.”

                “I’ll tell the Sheriff to keep tabs on Emma’s, make sure they don’t leave. Right now, you need sleep.”

                “D’accord, mon cher. Just a little…” he yawned. “Lay with me, sil vous plait?”

                Logan nodded and curled behind him as Remy turned over on his left, falling asleep again almost instantly. He plucked one of Logan’s thick arms across his waist and pressed it against his skin, sighing softly at his touch. The bigger man pressed his nose against the nape of Remy’s neck, sweeping the long hair aside and breathed him deep and feel asleep as the sun began to rise.

 

**

 

                In the early dim early morning light, Creed woke from a night of little sleep. He sniffed the air and then snorted, animal senses overwhelmed by the heavy scent of sex in the air, accented with fear and grief.

                He looked to his bed partner and found Raven still sleeping. Her injured leg, now stitched and bandaged, rested on a pillow that was propped between her knees. He leaned over and kissed her neck and the woman sighed, but didn’t wake.

                Creed moved from the bed, heedless of his naked form, and stalked towards the door, opening it and glancing out into the hall. There was little movement within the large brothel, as most the girls had barely risen from their long night of work and many were still lying with their customers.

                He padded down the hall towards the other room he had rented and knocked upon the door. There was a scurrying sound from inside and then the knob turned, revealing Rogue’s face.

                Her sleep hooded eyes widened when she saw Creed standing there, naked as the day he was born. “What are you doin’?!” she barked, but he pushed his way into the room, knocking her aside easily enough.

                “Shut up, girl, I didn’t come to see you.” He growled.

                Inside the room there were two beds, one on each wall. Rogue had been sleeping in the one nearest to the door, but the far one, by the window, contained another figure. At first glance, she seemed small and younger than her years; barely eighteen. Her hair was long and the color of ink and laid like liquid ebony across her back and shoulders. She was thin, almost gaunt, from malnourishment and constant travel over the last few weeks.

                She sat curled upon herself at the edge of the bed, one of her hands was cuffed to the headboard. She wore very little, a thin little slip that practically covered nothing, and there were angry red cuts on her thighs and arms.

                “Cover yourself up, Creed! You’ll scare her!” Rogue chided him.

                “She _should_ be scared,” he snapped back at her, giving her a shove as he made his way towards the smaller figure on the bed. The girl flashed him a dangerous look trying to move away, but he grabbed her wrist, twisting it as he looked over her bloody arms.

                “She’s been doing that all night,” Rogue explained. “As soon as they heal up, she does it again. I can’t get her to stop. Maybe we should talk to Mama,”

                “I said shut your fucking mouth!” he turned and roared at her, and Rogue cowered against the wall, head bowed submissively. Creed turned back to the girl before him. “You keep slicing yourself up and I’ll cuff both your hands.” He warned her.

                The girl looked at him, her eyes were blue and wide, almost like a doll’s. They were the eyes of a creature who had been abused since birth, who hadn’t known tenderness or sweetness or a gentle human touch. She was afraid, all the time, afraid and yet eager to fight; a cornered animal.

                From her captured hand emerged two long blades, jutting up from the soft place between her knuckles. They rose and buried themselves into Creed’s neck, sending a spurt of blood across the floor.

                Rogue let out a little scream, which she barely muffled with her hands. Victor growled and jerked the girl’s hand back with an audible snap that made her cry out and threw her backwards onto the bed. He clapped his palm over the gushing wounds and growled, more out of annoyance than anything else. A moment later the wounds closed on their own, leaving only clotting blood behind. Creed licked the warm stuff off his hand, leering down at the girl below him.

                “You can hack at yourself all you like; we both know it ain’t gonna do you a lick of good. You’re like me, sweetheart. We don’t die easy.”

                “I am _nothing_ like you!” the girl protested. Creed fell over her, snarling in her face. She should have been afraid, she should have screamed, but instead the girl just stared, waiting for punishment, or perhaps the death she so longed for.

                “You are _exactly_ like me. We’re cut from the same cloth, darlin’, the same damn threads! You should learn to accept it, embrace it. Your new hubby certainly has. He can’t wait to take you home.”

                “I’ll kill him.” She replied bluntly.

                “After he’s paid, sweetheart. Only after he’s paid.” He let his eyes wander over her body and his loins gave a visible twitch, but he remained still. “Should be quite the send off, if he manages to get between those pretty legs before you rip him to shreds.”

                She kneed him in the gut, kicked him in the groin and hurled him off her, sending him crashing back to the floor as she tried to go after him, both sets of claws withdrawn. Creed roared at her, his own long animal like talons that grew from his nails extended. He slashed the girl across the face and sent her sagging to the floor. He had a mind to rip her in half, but he promised Raven he wouldn’t damage her that way. Despite the girl’s healing factor, the groom might disappointed if his bride wasn’t as pure as they promised.

                Instead he turned to Rogue, “Take the wind out of her once she closes up and cuff both hands to the bed. Don’t want to hear a peep out of her until the show, go it?”

                Rogue nodded fearfully.

                He stalked past her, limping just a bit as the other girl obediently knelt beside the already healing captive and pressed a finger to her shoulder. The girl cried out, her energy being visibly sucked from her body and then slumped unconscious next to the bed. Rogue replaced her gloves before lifting her back onto it.

                “I’m sorry, honey,” she whispered to her. “I’m really, really sorry. But it’s you or me. And you can’t die. But I _can._ ”

 

***


	9. Chapter 9

 

***

 

_He could smell the fire, feel the dull singe of his flesh where the nerves hadn’t yet been destroyed. Black acrid smoke and the smell of burning flesh filled his nose, while screams and groans of the dying filled his ears._

_The smoke burned his eyes as he tried to see through the haze. The trees, thick, heavy pines, that had become brittle in the winter winds, waved in the breeze, embers and ash drifting through their thick needles._

_The world around him was hazy, but he could see bodies littering bloody snow. Canon fire sounded somewhere in the distance and horses ran. Logan staggered from the fire, his body screaming as he did so._

_He passed in a circle of charred ground and realized this was where the wagon had exploded, destroying his platoon and killing everyone. Everyone except him. He looked down at his charred body and blackened and bloody uniform hanging off him in tattered shreds._

_It had been a trap; it had all been a trap. He could feel his body trying to heal itself, muscles and tendons knitting back together, bones realigning. The scorched bits of his skin were struggling, but it was only temporary._

_He called out for someone, someone whose name died on his lips. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to remember._

_Unleashing his claws, he stalked through the carnage, hearing the approach of more enemy horsemen, attempting to retake their ground._

_A bullet ripped through him, then another. He stumbled, but didn’t fall. And when he turned, he wasn’t Logan anymore. He was someone else; someone more animal than man. Rage filled his heart, and he leapt, mad and foaming, his claws slice through flesh and bone._

_He killed the scouts and those first charge. But he kept going, cutting his way through the trees, back into their ranks, leaving a swath of blood behind him. Someone attempted to trample him on horseback and he reached up, skewering the man from the back of his steed and hurling him across the field._

_Bayonets impaled him as he was taken from behind, and he tore the rusty blades from his flesh before turning and driving them back into their owners. Finally the screams stopped. The attacks stopped. Everything stopped._

_He was blood soaked, heaving for breath with his claws gleaming in the firelight. Slowly his vision cleared and he looked down at his victims. They were boys; barely old enough to hold a gun. Children. He had slaughtered children._

_A body moved behind him, big a hulking and a scent overpowered him. Cold, metallic, powerful. A hand rested on his shoulder, long claw-like nails raking across his raw shoulder._

_“Feels good, doesn’t it?” a voice, cold and snarling asked in his ear. “Unleashing the animal.”_

_“I…” Logan panted, feeling his face was suddenly wet. “I didn’t mean to…I didn’t mean to!”_

_“Of course you did. You’re a killer, Howlett. Just like me.”_

_Logan screamed and turned to stab the man behind him. But as his claws sunk into flesh and raked against bone, he shuddered to find the whispering menace was not the one behind him. Instead, he found himself staring into the face of a wide-eyed Remy LeBeau, his claws sunk to the knuckles inside his chest._

_“It’s only a matter of time. You’re a killer, Howlett. You destroy everything you touch.”_

_“NO!”_

_Logan withdrew his claws and Remy sagged to the ground and he caught him, cradling him close. “Oh God, no! Please! PLEASE! I didn’t mean to!”_

_The snarling man laughed at him as Remy shuddered and died in his hands._

_“NO! NO! PLEASE!”_

 

                “Logan!”

                The dark haired man let out an explosive breath, feeling himself suddenly fall forward into a pair of long arms that wrapped around him from behind. Remy was pressed up against him, Logan held tightly to the man’s bandaged chest, leaning back. Logan’s claws were out, buried in the bed.

                He shivered and shuddered, rasping for air, soaked in sweat. Remy leaned him back, peering into his face. “Shh, cher, you safe now. Just a dream, dat’s all. Just a bad dream…”

                Logan lifted his hands, causing a little puff of feathers and down as he did so and willed the blades back into place. When they were gone he wrapped his arms around himself and sobbed loudly, Remy curling around him more fully now that the danger had passed. He let the man collapse into his lap and stroked his back and his hair, shushing him and whispering words of solace to him softly in French.

                After a little time the older man was able to gather himself again and catch his breath. The images that were so bright in his mind a moment ago faded by degrees until the details were lost and all that was left was the lingering dread.

                “A-are…are you alright?” he mumbled, looking up at the other man. Remy smiled at him a chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss him gently.

                “What did I tell ya before, homme? After all dat, you worried about me? You’re a protector, I’ve no doubt. But shush now, cher, let me hold you. Dat was a doozy of a nightmare. About scared me out of my wits!”

                “Sorry,” Logan said dryly, throat aching. “I’m not…used ta sharin’ a bed with someone. Didn’t hurt ya , did I?”

                “Non, cher. Your moaning woke me first. Have to admit I didn’t expect de claws, but at least I was smart enough ta get clear! What were you dreaming about dat upset you so?”

                Logan only shook his head. “Don’t know. Always fades away before I can really get a grip on it.”

                “You dream like dis often?”

                “No, but I don’t need to sleep much either. Don’t get tired like other people, guess that’s part of the healing factor as well.”

                “Well, you lucky den. Cause I slept hard and still feel like I could sleep for a year.” He yawned and stretched, though it ached him to do so and climbed out of the bed, pulling Logan after him. “You sure you’re alright?”

                “Fine, never mind it. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to the girl.”

                “O’ course. But uh, can I ask you one question?”

                “Shoot.”

                “You did a lot of yellin’ in your sleep. You say Remy’s name, and you were crying…why?”

                Logan blinked in surprise and a flash of the nightmare returned to his mind’s eye. As the copper haired Cajun looked at him in concern, the Inn Keeper only bowed his head and then drew the man into an embrace. Remy accepted it without further questions, pressing an affectionate kiss the shorter man’s brow. “You a strange man, m’sieur. I’m glad to have met you.”

                They stepped out into the little apartment together, and Logan noticed immediately that Jubilee’s scent wasn't in the apartment. He guessed she had gone downstairs for food, after peering into her room and seeing that her bed was made and her nightgown was lying on the edge of it.

                He fetched a clean shirt from the old bureau for Remy to wear. It was a big wide on him, but managed to cover what it needed, though it made him look a bit like a pauper. “Have a feeling we’ll have ta take ya to the tailor and get you something proper to wear, threw out all the things that were in the rooms I lent ya, probably your things too.” Logan explained.

                Remy shrugged slowly, still feeling stiff. “You ain’t thrown away anyt’ing o’ mine, cher. All I own is whatever I can carry in my coat. You didn’t chuck dat out, did you?”

                Logan nodded towards the door, where the man’s leather duster had been gingerly folded over the back of a chair. Remy seized it and slipped it on. It fit him like a second skin, like had been made for him and him alone. He looked confident in it, strong. Logan liked how he looked in it. So much that he made an unconscious noise that was something like a purr.

                Remy didn’t miss it, turning to look at the man with amused surprise. “Oui, I guess it _does_ look good on me. Glad you approve, cher.”

                “Oh I approve alright,” Logan answered. His eyes flickered towards the demon eyed man's. “Can you tell what I’m feelin’ right now, Cajun? Or do I have ta spell it out for ya?”

                Remy relaxed and opened himself to the empathetic wave Logan was giving off; it was lustful, animal, but not overpowering. Not frightening. It was warm and curious, full of longing. Remy emitted a small groan as it washed over him. The man loved him, he could feel it. It was so strange.

                Before he realized it, Logan had crossed the room to stand in front of him, leaning up and pulling the man down into another kiss. Remy wanted to stay in that moment as long as he could, feeling Logan hold him against him, kissing him slowly and eagerly. Remy was not used to this sort of lover.

                And being what he was, and naturally curious, not to mention wary, Remy decided he wanted to feel a little more. He let go of the tight grip on his empathetic power, his “charm” as some put it, letting Logan get a taste of his own affections for him and reading his reactions.

                Nothing changed at first, Logan was warm and passionate, eager to explore him. Remy liked that, wanted that. But he needed to know more. Logan became a little more aggressive as Remy’s lust gripped him and his kisses grew more probing, more hungry. He wasn’t his first, Remy could tell. Logan must have had other lovers before. Were they men or women?

                They stumbled together and dropped down onto the seat by the window, where Logan could get to the man better. He was over top of him, licking and kisses down his throat, which Remy exposed happily. He felt the man’s erection brush against his thigh and gave a small shudder. He had seen him naked that night he brought him home after Creed had hurt him. The man’s endowment was nothing short of impressive, and now that he could feel it growing harder against him he almost didn’t dare imagine what it would feel like inside him.

                Remy tensed, though he did his best not to show it. But Logan must have felt it all the same, pausing in his explorations to glance up at him. The blue color of Logan’s eyes, the way he looked at him then, startled the Cajun. His control slipped entirely for a second and he gasped as he sent out a pulse of empathetic energy.

                Logan cried out too, suddenly feeling Remy’s emotions striking him like a club. He got a flash of images in his mind, emotional imprints, mixed with memories. He saw Creed, leaning over Remy, naked and bloody and Remy screaming beneath him. He saw the girl called Rogue and romance that never bloomed but ached all the same, he saw Remy now, as he was, wanting him so bad but afraid. So damn afraid.

                Logan shook it off, falling back into the window seat with his head in his hands. “God! God…oh Jesus, kid…”

                “I’m sorry!” Remy cried, “Didn’t mean ta do dat, I’m---!”

                “It’s alright,” Logan insisted, catching his breath. He rubbed his face and found that his hands came away wet. Second time today. This certainly didn’t bode well. “I just…I didn’t know. I just didn’t know.”

                There was a crash from downstairs then that had them both on their feet immediately. Logan was at the door, then at the rail, staring down the spiraling gap between the two levels to the main floor below.

                “You get outta here now! Or I’ll give it to ya again!” Jubilee shouted.

                “She in trouble!” Remy gasped, but Logan was already half way down the first flight of steps, the taller man sprinting behind.

                He reached the bottom at a leap and charged into the main Saloon, only to see a bright burst of light that made him wince, followed by a loud pop and crack. A body went tumbling back towards him and he stepped aside to allow the Ranger known as Cable to fall into another set of tables, turning them over as he crashed to the ground.

                He turned his attentions to Jubilee, who standing at the opposite end of the saloon, her hands out in front of her, still glinting faintly. “You alright, girl?”

                “Fine,” she panted. “But this asshole broke in and wouldn’t leave!” she said, dropping her defensive position and moving towards Logan and Remy.

                “That so?” Logan replied, turning his attentions to the downed man. He moved over him, dragged the dazed figure up by his collar and shook him. “What kind of a son of a bitch are you, coming in here and attacking an innocent girl? You Rangers got nothin’ better to do than bully children?”

                “She just blasted me with—with--!”

                “I call ‘em fireworks.” Jubilee said proudly, hands on her hips.

Remy gave her an impressed smile. “Well, well, de kitten has claws after all, eh? Take after your Papa more den you realize.”

“Will you stop it with that—“ Logan chided, only to have Cable lean up and punch him hard in the face, knocking him to the ground. Jubilee shouted as the man then charged at Remy, gun leveled at his chest.

“Put your hands up, LeBeau, you got questions to answer!”

“Show you my hands, eh?” Remy quipped, lifting his hands as if to surrender, only to produce several cards from his sleeves which he ignited with his kinetic energy. The Ranger stared at them in shock a moment before the other man hurled them at him.

As they exploded around Cable in painful little bangs and pops that singed his coat and skin and blinded him effectively, Remy leapt nimbly upon the edge of the table and swung into a kick that sent the bigger man rolling and stumbling again.

But the Ranger turned his gun upon the man and let off a shot, then another. Both bullets buried themselves in the wooden posts. He made to take another shot that would have struck Remy between the eyes, if the man hadn’t fired off another card that struck his gun and turned it molten debris.

The Ranger bellowed in pain and tried to come after the man, but Jubilee blinded him with another hot spark of her own power, which seemed to be similar to Remy’s in that she could create an explosive flash of energy from her palms.

Logan grabbed the man from behind then and heaved him through the bar door, sending sprawling into the street outside, sending towns folk scattering to get out of the way. Logan stormed out behind him, giving the man another swift kick in the ass for good measure.

“Some fuckin’ man of the law you are,” he muttered to him. “You _ever_ come in my place again waving around a gun like that and you’ll find it crammed so far up your backside you’ll be able to taste it.”

                “You’re harboring a criminal, Mr. Howlett,” he groaned. “I can have you in jail for thirty days for that.”

                “You take it up with the Mayor. Till then, you stay the fuck away from me and mine. Got it?”

                Cable blinked at him. “You’re claimin’ that Confederate trash?”

                Gambit seemed as startled as Cable was. “Logan, you done enough for me as is, please don’t—“

                “Quiet, LeBeau. You’re with me, so long as you choose to be. And while you’re here, I’ll vouch for ya, fight for ya, whatever. So, what do ya say?”

                For a moment nobody spoke, then Remy turned back to the Ranger. “I’m wit dem. Guess you outta luck, homme.” He flicked a card at the man’s muddy and bruised face, and smiled as the townsfolk laughed. “Maybe next time.”

                He looked up then as the Ranger tried to pick himself up and slink off down the road and saw a face in the crowd staring at him. “Ann Marie?”

                She moved from the shadows between the buildings, huddled into her green cloak and glancing around nervously. Logan scented her and immediately went on the defensive, but Remy put a hand on his shoulder.

                “What you doin’ here, girl? Can’t t’ink I go back w’it you after what’s happened.”

                “You’ve come back after worse,” she answered, but her voice was small and stiff, nothing of the sweet sultry tones he was used to. “Remy, please, I need your help.”

                He laughed at her, but she remained where she was, looking for all the world like she would cry, but was too stubborn to give in.

                “After what you done? What, you gonna convince me they’ll change, dat _you’ll_ change? Dat next time, next town, it’ll all be different? It ain’t _never_ different, Marie!

                “I know that!” she gasped. “But I’m not askin’ for me this time. It’s…oh Remy, it’s the most awful thing he’s done yet! You have to help her!”

                “Help who?” Logan cut in.

                The girl who called herself Rogue and Ann Marie in equal turns gazed at him nervously. “Creed…they got a girl, they’re planning on sellin’ her to some rich rancher who wants to marry her. But it ain’t just that, she…she’s like us, Remy. And she’s scared and she’s _dangerous._ She got claws like…like _him!”_ she pointed to Logan, who seemed genuinely shocked at the idea.

                “Creed buys and sells people all de time, why she different?”

                “She’s a child. I mean to look at her, she’d be marrying age, but she’s not…it’s like she’s stunted somehow. You can’t let them do this to her, please! I need your help!”

                “Why de bleedin’ heart now, chere?” he asked her coldly. “Can remember begging you on my knees for help more den a few times, when t’ings was ugly and getting worse by de second, and you just turned your pretty head and told me to forget, told me to just let is pass and move on. You told me you loved me once, Rogue. And you still…” his breath hitched a little but he went on, more angry than ever, “…so now I’m supposed ta believe you give two shits about a total stranger?”

                The tears came at last, but he felt no pity for her. Logan put his hand on his arm and Remy relaxed a little under his grip. “I think now’s the time to look past your grudge, Cajun. This girl is more important.”

                “You right, cher.”

                “You’ll come then? You’ll help me get her away before they take her?”

                Gambit nodded, “I will. But not for you. For her, and for him.” He glanced again at Logan and put his hand over his. “But I swear, Rogue, if this is some trick, I will make you regret it.”

                She nodded. “I understand.”

 

***


	10. Chapter 10

 

***

 

                Emma’s was the largest building in town, aside from the church in the square and possibly the Mayor’s house. Being one of the oldest buildings in Tull, it was also one of the most weathered looking, but had held up against the harshness of the sun and wind.

                It’s wide porch and multiple balconies were always occupied. There were always ladies standing there in their extravagant and revealing adornments, waving paper fans and cat-calling to the customers. On this particular day, since the sun was high and baking, there were fewer to be seen, most waving from the shady porch below or from inside windows that were thrown wide in hopes of catching some breeze.

                Standing in front of it now, the four looked on dubiously. Logan snorted, the overwhelming scent of sex in the air doing nothing to help his already unsatisfied libido, and the other smells; usually shame, fear, guilt, sometimes mixed with genuine affections, were bombarding his senses.

                Remy didn’t like the feel of the place either. He had to close himself off rather quickly to keep from being overwhelmed by the empathetic energy coming off it. He looked to Rogue, who had followed them there. “What’s dis girl look like?”

                “She’s thin; long black hair and blue eyes. They’ve been keeping her locked up pretty tight in one of the third floor bedrooms. Like I said, she’s got claws, so be careful.”

                “Ain’t afraid of gettin’ scratched,” Logan muttered. He turned to Jubilee, who immediately rolled her eyes, knowing what was about to come out of his mouth.

                “I am _not_ going back to the Inn to wait for you. If this girl is anything like me, you’re going to need me around. She’s not exactly going to feel very safe around two big men who may or may not be busting bottles over a bunch of half-naked drunks head’s.”

                “De girl has a point.”

                “I’ve fought to keep you from ever walking in those doors, girl, what makes you think I’m just gonna bow out now?” Logan grumbled.

                “Because you’re with me, and so is Remy.” She answered, smiling at the tall man.

                Gambit looked at Rogue again, “You’d best stay here and make yourself scarce. He knows you ratted him out, he won’t care what your Mama says.”

                “He won’t hurt me. He can’t.” Rogue replied, “Besides, you need me in there. Now come on, we don’t have much time.”

                She moved ahead of them, pushing into the door and speaking with the hulking brute, better known to the town as Blob, who guarded the door and nodding to Remy and Logan.

                “Jubes, want you to stay close but outta sight,” Logan instructed. “Trouble starts—“

                “And it will.”

                “—You get help.”

                “I _am_ your help.” She reminded him. Remy turned to her then, “Petite, if things get ugly in dere, want you to grab de girl and take her back home, understand me? Like you say, she may trust you more den us. She might be in a bad way, t’ink you can do dat?”

                “You can count on me!” she nodded, then scurried off to find some place to hide herself along the wide porch where no one was looking, to wait for an opening to sneak in unseen.

                Meanwhile, the two men allowed themselves to be shuffled inside. Compared to Logan’s, the place was a circus. Even at this early hour of the day, customers were rowdy and cantankerous, many already heavily intoxicated.

                Groups of men gathered around tables, most with a girl or two in their lap, laughing and drinking and playing cards. Others were trying to close the deal with one of the prostitutes for a short engagement upstairs. But despite whatever they may have assumed; Emma’s girls were not cheap whores who would throw themselves at anything that moved and had a wallet. You only got what you paid for, and for many of these poor slobs, that was a slap in the face and tossed out on the ear, their wallets lighter and their lust unquenched.

                Logan scanned their painted faces, glad no one looked too familiar, and even more so when he saw no one Jubilee’s age. It hurt him to think of a girl barely passed playing dolls would be subjected to this just because she had sprouted teats. The older women were probably no more than twenty, twenty five, but so many looked weary and bitter that it had stolen their youth.

                Remy felt a hand on his back and turned, seeing a pretty young woman looking up at him eagerly. “Well hello, handsome. You’re new around here. Care for the tour? Won’t cost you too much, you’re such a fine lookin’ thing.”

                Remy bowed his head and kissed her hand lightly, “Je regret, cherie, I shall have to decline. But if I may trouble you for some information?”

                “Anything for you, darling.”

                Remy _felt_ Logan bristle. Was this jealousy? He almost smirked, but kept his eyes on the woman in front of him. “I am looking for a woman, with red hair and perhaps an… _unnatural_ skin condition? Goes by de name of Lady Raven Darkholm?”

                The girl immediately lost some of her lust and stepped back nervously. “She came in with that man, the one with the big teeth. You friends with them?”

                “Decidedly not,” Remy replied. “But I have business w’it dem. Might you know which room dey be stayin’ in?”

                “That’s not a question for her to answer,” Another voice said suddenly. They turned to see another woman sauntering towards them. She wore all white from her corset, to her gloves, to her skirts, to the long cape that flowed from her bare shoulders. Her hair was pale gold, and her eyes were blue like winter.

                Everything about her was cold; beautiful and deadly and unmerciful. Remy tried to get a read off her, but only felt a void. She must have been a telepath; a powerful one. It dawned on him that Tull was indeed a haven for his own kind; a place where everyone was more extraordinary than not. But he wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

                “Bonjour, Madame, je—“

                Before Remy could launch into any further explanation, the woman had already moved passed him, giving him a little push, her eyes on Logan. “Mr. Howlett, it’s been too long. Last we spoke, I believe you swore you would never set foot in here as long as you breathed. You are still breathing, aren’t you, my dear?”

                The dark haired man bristled at her, “Look, Frost, we have business here.”

                “So do I. What are you in the mood for? Or did you perhaps change your mind about that little Chinese girl?”

                Logan raised his fist and Remy thought for sure he would show the woman his claws, but he held still, tense and snarling. “You shut your mouth about the girl. I want answers. You’re hiding criminals—nothing new. Don’t give two shits about them. But we want the girl they brought in. You don’t turn her over, Emma, we’ll get the Sheriff involved.”

                “Oh yes, why don’t you bring Scott along? I have some things of his to return that he left in my boudoir.” She smirked and Logan blinked, shocked by the accusation.

                “Oh don’t act so surprised. He’s a man. Men are weak.” She looked to Remy, looking him up and down. “Speaking of weaknesses, where did you say you were from, darling? I thought I heard French, but’s a little rough.”

                Remy glared at her with his red on black eyes and she tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, making him jerk his head away. “Oooh, pretty _and_ skittish. Wish I had known that was your type before, Logan. I could have provided for you.”

                “The girl, Emma.”

                “I can’t help you with that. They keep her pretty close, and they should be preparing to leave here with her in about two hours. However, if you can convinced them otherwise, their room is on the third floor.”

                Logan nodded, and turned to Remy, who in kind turned to Rogue, only to find that the girl had vanished. “Where did she go?”

                Emma only shrugged her pale shoulders. “Remember my rules, gentlemen, any rough business and I’ll have to get nasty.”

                “You just keep your girls out of the line of fire,” Logan replied. “Things are bound to get rough.” Remy looked up then along the railings overlooking the main show room. He sensed Raven moving about, and Rogue too. “I find de girl, you distract ‘em.” He whispered to Logan before dashing away under the eaves of the steps, leaving Logan alone.

                The dark haired man hadn’t time to protest as Raven suddenly made herself known, Rogue standing beside her, helping her limp down the steps. He watched them silently, poised and ready for a fight. To his surprise he found that Emma staid right at his side.

                “Good morning, ladies!” she grinned. “And how does this lovely day find you? Lady Darkholm, I do hope you are managing with that awful wound. Can I get you anything?”

                Raven barely glanced at the woman. “No thank you, Emma.” She mumbled. “What are you doing here, Mr. Howlett? Where’s your Sheriff to finish me off?”

                “He ain’t with me.” Logan replied. “I came here to discuss the Cajun.”

 

**

 

                Remy crept along the corridors, ignoring the lurid and rowdy sounds from the doors behind. He moved seamless and silent, his coat waving behind him, collar pulled high to help conceal his features. Upon reaching the third floor he found that he began to break into a nervous, cold sweat. Creed was somewhere nearby, he could sense it. Moving like a cat along the corridor, he found his way to door at the end of the hall. Remy gathered they would want to keep the girl as far away from anyone else as possible; isolation being one of their favored methods of breaking someone.

                Lightly he tested the knob and found it locked. Quick work with a pin from his coat fixed that obstacle, but he did not open the door at once. Instead he stood there, still as he could, and simply listened.

                Creed was not here; he didn’t hear the man’s heavy breathing. There was only a quiet sort of whimpering and the occasional shifting of sheets and a the clink of metal and against metal. Remy pushed the door open just a crack with his fingertips, and peered inside.

                Across from the door he could see a bed, and upon it a nearly naked young woman, who was shifting uncomfortably upon the sheets, with her arms chained above her head. Remy moved forward, sliding through the crack in the door like a shadow and stared at her.

                “Oh Mon Dieu,” he whispered, and the sound caught her attention, making her jerk her head up and stare at him. Her big blue eyes were glazed and dull, red around the edges from crying. She looked at him the way a wounded animal does; frightened, angry, knowing death is coming but not ready to accept, despite her misery.

                “Don’t touch me!” she snarled.

                “Shh,” he hushed, moving towards her at a steady gate, hands in front of his to show he meant no harm. “Not gonna hurt ya, I swear it. Wanna help you get outta here.”

                “You’re lying.” She growled, kicking her legs at him. “You’re that man they’re selling me to!”

                “Not in the business of buying girls for sex or marriage or anything else.” he answered bluntly. Carefully he eased himself down on the edge of the bed next to her, but did not touch her. “My name’s Remy. What’s yours?”

                She spat at him, but that didn’t deter him. “I’m told you got special talents. So do I.” He pulled a card from his pocket and showed it to her, then gradually ignited it with his energy. She stared at it nervously, but he did nothing more than wave the thing aside, turning it to ash.

                “Are you going to hurt me?”

                “Never, petite.” He said firmly but softly. “Wanna help you, if you’ll let me. Take you away from dis place. You got any relation you can go to? Tantie? Uncle? Sister, maybe?”

                She just stared at him blankly. “Alone in de world, eh? Well, dat’s alright.” He reached for her hands and she jerked away nervously, trying to kick at him, but he caught her knee before it struck him in the face. In this position she was even more exposed and she whimpered, but Gambit pulled the sheet over her.

                “God, chil’, what dey doin’ ta you? Ain’t dey give you no clothes?”

                “Creed says whores don’t need clothes.”

                “You ain’t no whore,” he corrected, hand on her cheek. “Don’t you ever let someone call you dat, especially a man like him.”

                She didn’t flinch from him this time, so he added; “I know you don’t trust me, petite, and dat’s alright. But need ya to hear me out. Can show you, if you let me.”

                Again she only stared at him with those wide accusing eyes. Remy released a breath and focused, allowing an empathetic wave to wash over the girl while he was still touching her. She gasped a little as it hit her and tried to move away, and he didn’t restrain her.

                “I know you’re scared. But I know de pain you in, petite. I know it too well. It hurts so bad and you so angry inside. Can’t barely live wi’t yourself. But you’re strong, even if you don’t know it now. I can help you.”

                Slowly she nodded, her eyes a little too bright, and he wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. “Thank you.” He leaned over her and started to undo the cuffs. He had no sooner undone one hand than the girl had her claws pressed to his throat.

                Remy stilled, glancing down at her, his fingers still working the lock on the other cuff. “Hmm, dem claws look a might familiar,” he mused. “Only you got two and he got three.”

                “What are you talking about?” the girl beneath him hissed.

                “Mon ami, cher. He a lot like you. Maybe can help you control dem blades. If you like.”

                She was stunned at how he didn’t seem frightened by her, or the fact it would take little more than the flick of her wrist for her to sever his curated artery. He turned his eyes from her and went back to the lock.

                “What are you doing?”

                “Getting your other hand free.”

                “Why?”

                “Said I would help you. So I am.” The tumblers turned over and he sat back, feeling her move with him, blades still pressed precariously against his flesh. He sat back and waited. The girl stared at him, trembling, free and so afraid. A bird that had lived her whole life in a cage, and now faced with freedom, she had no idea how to fly.

                Remy extended his hand for her to take. “It’ll be alright. I promise.”

                Hesitantly she withdrew her claws and he smiled. But before she could put her shaking hand in his, another pair of hands grabbed the man from behind and hurled into the wall. Gambit went crashing through the wooden boards, leaving splinters and dust as he dropped to the ground, panting and groaning.

                Creed was on top of him, snarling and ready to land another blow but Remy struck him in the face with his foot, and sprang away, grabbing his cards and flinging them at the man, who roared as they exploded across his skin.

                “Run, petite _! Run!_ ” he shouted to the girl, but she remained frozen upon the bed, eyes wide. Remy barely avoided another swipe of Creed’s talons and rebounded off the wall, leaping over the bigger man and catapulting himself onto the bed, where he grabbed up the dazed girl and hurled another set of cards through the wall to make an escape.

                “Hang onto me, cherie!”

                “Get _back here_ , Lebeau!” Creed roared, making another grab for the man and just missing. “I told you not to get in the way, now you’re gonna _pay_!”

 

**

Logan’s eyes flickered to Rogue, wondering if she would give him away, but she remained looking at him placidly as though she’d never spoken a word to him. Raven eased herself into a chair with her daughter’s help and invited Logan to do the same, though he declined.

                “Tired of him already? He must be slipping. I thought for sure he had you snared in with his _Charm_ power. Why else would a reasonable man such as yourself over-react the way you did?”

                “Why’d you want him to distract me?”

                “We only wanted to conduct our business without prying eyes. As you can imagine we’ve been through this before. There’s always someone who wants to cause a stir, either because they want money or because they hate us for what we are.”

                “Life’s hard when you’re wanted for murder.” Logan retorted. “So…this ‘charm’ of his. He uses it on people a lot?”

                “Of course he does, the little swamp rat can’t help himself. Between that pretty face and those pheromones eeking out of him all the time; I’m pretty sure it’s the only reason he’s managed to stay alive this long. You know he’s wanted in several states for robbery, I do hope you keep whatever valuables you may have under lock and key. Though it won’t do much good against the little thief.” She smirked at the way Logan soured.

                The next minute there was an explosive roar from above, followed by a thunderous crash and people running and screaming. Remy came barreling along the third floor landing, a girl in his arms. “We gotta go! NOW!” he called down as Creed came bounding after him.

                Logan flexed his fingers and his claws unsheathed themselves from his flesh, making both Raven and Emma jump. The short man was bounding upwards then, leaping across table tops until he reached the stair railing and taking three steps at a time.

                Remy had reached the second floor, only to have Creed grab hold of his coat tails and cause him to lose his balance. He threw the girl, who cried out as she was sent tumbling down the remaining steps, landing in a heap.

                The Cajun turned to give the man another blast of his charged cards, only to have the man seize his throat and squeeze, lifting him bodily off the ground and bending him backwards over the banister, “You little traitor,” Creed snarled in his face, “you think for one s _econd_ I’m gonna let you walk away from this in one piece?”

                “Absolute non,” Remy wheezed, blinking up into the man’s hard features. He surprised him then by wrapping his legs around the man’s back and letting his arms splay out, grabbing hold of the railing tightly. “But I’m afraid you out of time ta kill me today!”

                Remy flipped himself backward with all his strength, hurling Creed over the banister and sending him crashing to the tables below. Logan was there in seconds, grabbing hold of the dangling Cajun and hauling him to safety.

                “You alright?!”

                “Oh, your friend Hank not going ta be pleased wi’t me,” he groaned. “pretty sure I just ruined all his work.”

                “Can’t rest yet, darlin’.” Logan replied, seeing that Creed was already getting to his feet and coming after them. They turned hurriedly towards the steps, where Remy bent to help the fallen girl, only to have Raven come bounding towards them, gun out and firing.

                Remy raised a hand to shield himself, only to have Logan step in front of him, deflecting the shots with his claws, and letting others tear into him without barely a grunt. The blue skinned woman kept advancing all the same, emptying her gun into the man and then reaching for another, only to have it slashed from her hand as Logan tried to impale her.

                She was quicker than he gave her credit for, however, leaping up and grabbing a ceiling beam and kicking him viciously in the face. Logan took the blow and redoubled his efforts, grabbing the woman’s leg and swinging her through the dry wall of the nearest room.

He glanced over his shoulder at LeBeau; “Go on, get out of here! I’ll be right behind you!”

Remy nodded and took off, wrapping the girl in his coat as they hurried down the stairs, eager to escape. Logan turned then and charged in after her, to make sure she stayed down, only to have Rogue come up behind him, one hand missing a glove. Logan slashed at her, barely avoiding her touch, forcing her to back up.

                “I knew you were a back-stabber!”

                “You got what you came for, now get outta here and leave my Mama alone!” she warned. Raven groaned from beneath the rubble, trying to pick herself back up. She fumbled for her gun, managing to lift it again and planted a bullet right between Logan’s eyes.

                The big man fell to the ground with a thunk as Rogue screamed.

 

                Remy was sprinting for the door, the gaunt woman in his arms clinging to him in terror and confusion, when Creed came bounding after him.

                He was too fast. Gambit managed to leap aside, just out of his reach, but now he was that much further from the door. Broken chairs and tables scattered the show room, creating far too many obstacles. He grabbed a table top and charged it, allowing it to explode to splinters as Victor rounded on them again. In the momentary haze he was able to leap over the bar top, tucking the girl beneath it as she shuddered.

                “It’s alright, petite, you stay here and I--!”

                Remy was grabbed by his hair and yanked over the bar by the other mutant, who slammed him onto the counter top, making his spit blood. The southerner laid there in a daze as Creed stood over him, teeth bared, ready to tear his throat out.

                “Get off ‘im!” Jubilee screeched, appearing then from her own hiding place. She blasted the man in the back with a burst of energy that seared his already burned flesh. He turned towards her dangerously, letting out another predatory growl.

                “Non, petite…” Gambit croaked from below him. “Run…RUN!”

                The girl hesitated as Victor turned on her, talons already gleaming and bloody. His nostrils flared and he grinned wickedly, “I do love fresh meat. And you’re pretty damn fresh, sweetheart. Gonna tear you in half and see how far your insides stretch.”

                She cried out and fired off another blast. It made him blink and snarl, but didn’t keep him from advancing, until Remy clawed his way back up and grabbed a table leg, which he smashed across the man’s head.

                “Don’t you touch her!”

                “Damn it, LeBeau, you are just _begging_ for me to kill you, and you just might get your wish!” He swept a hand back, trying to rake his claws against Remy’s chest, and missing by centimeters. Jubilee kept pelting him, which only served to send the beast into a primal rage.

                Remy searched the upper landings for any sign of Logan, but the man seemed to be detained. He was going to have to fight his way out of this alone, for the sake of the girls and himself. He fumbled for something, anything to end Creed with.

                The man wouldn’t die, not easily. Remy had tried before. But he had think of something; _anything_. He fumbled across the broken and littered ground for something to use, something to charge. His fingers brushed along the butt of a shot gun, which must have been left behind in the panic.

                He picked it up and checked the shells. One bullet was all that was left. “Creed!” he bellowed, raising it and taking aim at the beast’s head.

                The blonde mutant turned towards him, yellow eyes murderous and vengeful, foam and blood dangling from his mouth as he bared his elongated fangs. _“Fuck you!”_ He fired, straight into the man’s head.

                Skull and brains and teeth exploded in a bloody burst. Jubilee screamed as she was splattered with it. Nearly headless, the mutilated corpse wobbled for a moment before toppling to the ground, gushing blood.

                Remy dropped the shot gun from his trembling hands and leaned back against the bar for support as Jubilee continued to scream in disgust and horror. There was a scuffling of glass and wood chips and they looked up to see Emma appear at the top of the steps.

                “Mr. LeBeau,” she called down with surprising calm. “I think you should come up and have a look at your friend, if you are quite finished ruining my establishment.”

                Remy blinked and then moved worriedly forward. “Logan? Is he alright?”

                He fumbled forward and took hold of Jubilee, “Shh, shh, hush now girl, stop dat, you alright. We gotta go see your Pa.”

                She nodded, still wide eyed and pale faced and he offered a handkerchief from his pocket to clean her face with as he lead her upstairs. They followed Emma, she turned to stop them outside the ruined room. “You might want to leave her out here.”

                “What? Why?” Jubilee gasped.

                Remy was already moving, stepping inside. “Logan?”

                The man was dead on the floor, a bloody hole in his forehead and a pool of blood beneath his black hair. The room swayed in front of Remy’s vision for a moment and he dropped to his knees next to the corpse, shaken and trembling. “Oh cher, no… _No_ …!”

                He pulled Logan’s head into his lap and felt the his cheek. He was still warm. It was then that Remy remembered how the man had recovered from the last injury he had suffered and he held his breath, looking down at him anxiously. “Please, if dat healing factor is worth _anyt’ing_ let it be of use now! Wake up, mon ami, wake up!”

                He bowed his head over Logan’s, pressing a kiss to his head. As he watched, he saw Logan’s skin begin to mend itself, slowly pushing the bullet back out of his skull and up to the surface. It rolled to the floor as it was expelled, completely bent and destroyed.

                Logan groaned a moment later as the wound closed entirely and his eyes opened. “Remy?”

                The Cajun met him with bright smile and leaned down to kiss him deeply. Logan clutched him, unsure of what had happened, but knowing he liked the response.

                “My God, he was dead!” Emma Frost gasped from behind them and Jubilee finally pushed past her into the room, causing the two men to break away.

                “You idiot!” she cried, falling next to him and throwing her arms around him, sobbing for all she was worth. “Don’t _scare_ me like that!”

                “Shh, shh, darlin’, I’m fine…” Logan mumbled to her, smoothing back her hair to find she was sticky with blood and gore. He looked fearfully to Remy who only replied; “It ain’t hers. I killed Creed. What happened to Raven and Rogue?”

                “Shot me and ran off I guess,” Logan grunted as the tall man helped him up and Jubilee remained attached to his side. “Where’s our mystery girl?”

                “Merdre! I left her down below!” Remy cried turning and rushing back down the steps. He fought his way back over to the bar, and found the girl exactly where had left her, huddled into a tight ball.

                “Oh, petite…petite, it’s alright.” He cooed, easing down beside her. “I’m sorry I left you, but I’m back now. My friends and me, we gonna take you someplace safe now, d’accord? Won’t let no one hurt you.”

                She allowed him to pull her from her spot and he pulled the coat closer around her shivering form. Logan and the others had joined them in the center of the wreckage, gazing at her curiously.

                “What in the _hell_ happened here?!” Sheriff’s Summer’s voice shouted suddenly from the doorway as they turned.

                “Oh Lord,” Logan moaned. “Late as ever.”

                Scott staggered inside, followed by the man called Warren. “My GOD! Emma are you alright!?” he asked, looking to the woman.

                “I’m fine, Sheriff.” She replied stiffly. “But your _friends_ have ruined my establishment, scared off all my customers and half of my girls.” She looked behind her at Creed’s corpse. “Oh, and killed this asshole as well.”

                The Sheriff moved forward to see the damage and then quickly looked away. “Who is responsible for this?”

                “C’est moi, M’sieur.” Remy said quickly, much to Logan’s chagrin. “The criminal and killer, Victor Creed cornered us when we tried to liberate this young woman from his clutches. He attempted to murder myself, young Jubilee, and M’sieur Howlett. I shot him wi’t dat gun, and I can tell you sincerely dat I never been so glad in all my life.”

                “Warren, take Mr. LeBeau into custody.”

                “Don’t you d _are,_ ” Logan growled moving forward. “I warned you once already, Scott.”

                “Logan, he just confessed to murder, I have to--!”

                “It was self-defense!” Jubilee piped up. “He was going to kill me, Remy saved me!”

                “ _Someone_ has to pay for these damages,” Emma cut in and Jubilee flashed her with a burst of light that blinded her and sent her tripping over the broken chairs. Scott reached out to help her as Logan ushered the rest of them towards the door. Warren stood there, unsure of what to do, looking to someone for answers.

                But Logan was glaring at him, blood soaked and menacing, and the rest looked so pitiful and dazed that he bowed aside, careful of his wings, and let them pass.

                “Warren, what are you doing!?”

                “Think we need to take this up with the Mayor, Scott. Obviously this wasn’t one sided.”

                Scott stood up, considering. “Fine. We’ll go to Xavier’s and get this mess settled.”

 

***


	11. Chapter 11

 

***

 

                The sun was already dipping low in the horizon and the heat of the day was already vanishing with the oncoming night. The Inn was empty of patrons and guests, and Logan remained downstairs in the saloon, cleaning up the mess left by the Ranger and watching the door.

                It had been hours since Scott and Warren had ridden off to Xavier’s; hours since the coroner had come to collect Creed’s remains. The hammer was about to fall, and messenger would be here soon with the decision. He wasn’t exactly thrilled that Charles hadn’t shown himself yet, hadn’t come to ask their side of the story as he usually did, but the day wasn’t over yet.

                Logan considered his options. If it was decided that Gambit should be taken in for shooting Creed there wasn’t going to be much he could do about it. Laws around here were strict for a reason; to keep chaos from descending in Tull, as it surely would otherwise. But the animal in him cried out against the idea; Remy was _his_. It would not abide letting another man take him away, possibly to harm or punish him. Logan knew he had no right to such thoughts. He barely knew the Cajun, whatever he may feel for him, but all his instincts told him to hold onto the man and never let him go.

                Creed troubled him as well. The man was dead and should have been forgotten about entirely; yet Logan couldn’t relax. Something about the man, something about the look in his eyes and the viciousness of his nature felt familiar to him, if only in the vaguest way. He wondered if Creed had ever come into town before, under a different name, or if Logan had met him somewhere long ago, before he had come to Tull. But he didn’t remember much before that time. He had worked very hard to forget it in fact.

                Jubilee, who had been cleaning up in the kitchen, emerged then, looking unusually quiet and sullen. Logan looked up from his work, “Why the long face?”

                She shook her head, glancing nervously out the door. “They haven’t come back yet. Do you think they will tonight?”

                “Most likely.” He nodded. “Not like Scott to leave things unfinished.”

                “I hate him.”

                “The man’s a prick, but he ain’t never done you any wrong. So what makes you say that?”

                “Because he thinks you’re dangerous. Because he acts like a big shot. Because…” she sniffled a little, looking more angry than upset. “Why can’t everyone just leave us alone? We were fine by ourselves, just you and me.”

                The broad man moved towards her, chores forgotten and put an arm around her, hugging her to him. “What if they take you away?” she murmured, voicing the fear that must have been building in her all this time.

                “They won’t, darlin’.”

                “You’re all I got.” she mumbled, and he felt the dampness of her tears on his shirt. He hugged her hard, kissing her hair.

                “Shh…” he hushed, “Jubilation Lee, I ain’t going anywhere. I promised your Ma and Pa before they passed that I’d look after ya. I’m doin’ my best, but sometimes I think you’d be better off without me…” He didn’t want to admit to her that he thought she’d be happier somewhere else. She could have gone to stay with Jean Grey, the town’s school mistress and gifted telepath, Xavier’s prized student. She was a friend of Logan’s, and a good woman. He never told Jubilee, but he had always planned to send her off to Jean’s when she had come of age. The girl needed a woman to teach her things he never could. But the time was passing quickly and he hadn’t budged. He didn’t know if it was for his sake or hers.

                “Shut up talking like that, old man. You need me around here to help keep this place going! Without me, you’d be drunk on the porch sitting in your own—“

                He covered her mouth with his palm and kissed her forehead. “Well, one things for sure, we’ve _got_ to do something about that mouth of yours. Your Ma would turn over in her grave if she heard you talking like that. But what the hell do I know about raising a little lady?”

                “Absolutely nothing.” She chuckled.

                “Exactly the problem.”  He glanced back up the stairs, wondering how Remy was doing, and she followed his gaze. “What will happen to him?” the girl asked.

                “Nothing bad. You can be sure of that.” He nodded resolutely. “Why don’t you go on up and see if he needs help with that girl?”

                “No way. She scares me.”

                “She’s more scared than all of us right now, can tell you that much. Smell it on her for miles, poor thing. I ever see those Darkholms again I won’t think twice about hitting a woman. Not after what they done.”

 

**

 

                Remy watched the girl from his place in the chair at the foot of Jubilee’s bed. The girl was not sleeping, but she was doing a very good job at pretending and he didn’t want to give away that he knew. So he kept on humming and singing his little tune to himself, flipping through his cards to pass the time. He was sore all over and half way through a bottle of whiskey to dull the pain, feeling numb and slightly drunk. After a day like today, he was just fine with that.

                The girl finally stirred and looked at him from her huddled place under the quilts and Remy looked up with an easy smile. “Bonsoir, petite. You sleep good?”

                She sat up slowly, looking down at the shirt that now covered her instead of the dirty and tattered slip she had been wearing. It was one of Logan’s, which was the no color of dust and hung off her tiny frame. It smelled like hot summer air and grass, fresh off the line. “Where am I?”

                “You a guest of the prestigious Inn of Tull, mon chere! Finer establishment you won’t find in dese parts.” He replied with a careless grin. The girl did not relax, still staring at him with those strange beautiful eyes that were so wide and childlike.

                “You hungry, perhaps? Got soup and bread, or corn bread and chilli, t’ink I saw some chicken in de pot down dere, if you like. Far cry from my Tantie’s gumbo, but never have come across anything so good since I left N’’Awlins. Anything interest you?”

                Again she said nothing and Remy sat up, looking at her closely. “Now I know you got to be hungry.”

                She moved towards him, much to his surprise, and practically crawled in his lap. Remy sat back, startled, as she ran a hand down his chest, trying undo the buttons of his shirt. He caught her hand lightly in his and pulled it back. “No, no, petite…you ain’t got to earn your supper. Remy’s your friend.”

                “I…don’t understand.” She replied.

                “Means you ain’t got to do none of dat. Means I help you, take care of you, don’t want nothin’ in return. Understand me?”

                She didn’t. He could see it in her face. He wanted to cry, looking at her lost expression. He moved her back to the edge of the bed and pulled the sheet across her lap before standing up. “Gonna go and see if I can’t find ya some more t’ings to wear now. I’ll be right back, you sit tight.”

                She squirmed a little, knotting her hands in the sheets. Remy blinked at her. “What’s wrong?”

                “I…” She squeezed her thighs together. Remy’s eyes widened in sudden understanding.

                “Oh, chere! Of course, you can uh…dere’s a toilet in de other room. Go on,” he took her hand and pulled her up and showed her across the little apartment and shut the door behind her as she stepped inside.

                He leaned against the wall, tilting his head back with a sigh. It hurt him to see anyone reduced to this. He wanted to kill Creed all over again, but knew he wasn’t the only one responsible. This girl had been conditioned this way; probably since childhood. Remy decided if he ever found the people who did this to her he’d add a few more counts of murder to his growing list of crimes.

                The door opened a moment later and she stepped out timidly, staring at the floor.

                “Everyt’ing okay, chere?”

                “Yes. Thank you.”

                “Don’t got ta thank me, and ya don’t have to ask permission for t’ings like dat. You need to go, you go. You need anyt’ing, you let me or Logan know, we get it for you.” He gently titled her chin up, allowing her hair to fall back so he could see her face again. “Hold your head up, petite. You beautiful and you free. You got de whole world in front of you. Understand me?”

                She nodded slowly.

                “What’s your name?” he asked again.

                She fumbled, and what Remy had mistaken for shyness was quickly revealing itself to be actual confusion. “Your Mama gave you a name, didn’t she?”

                “My mother…gave me away.” She mumbled after a moment. “She gave me away to the men from the city. And they hurt me, and made me…strong.”

                Remy blinked. “Dey what?”

                She turned back to him and suddenly the lost little girl was gone and the eyes looking at him were cold and dangerous. She raised a hand, extending the two long blades that appeared from between her knuckles and thrust them in Remy’s direction, though he was just a step ahead of them.

                “Petite, don’t do dis. I’m your friend, don’t wanna hurt you.”

                “You’re a mutant.” She muttered.

                “So are you, chere.”

                “Wrong. I am a _weapon._ ”

                She lunged at him then and he barely avoided being stabbed, still light on his feet despite his intoxication. He grabbed her other hand and twisted it behind her back, knocking her to the floor as she screamed. She fought against him, and it took everything he had to hold her down, which stunned him considering her previously delicate state.

                “Not gonna hurt you, girl! I’m your friend! Your _friend!”_

                She threw her elbow back and caught him in the face and he toppled over, blinking. She flipped around, ready to bring her heel down onto his forehead, only to have him roll away just in time to avoid having his head cracked open.

                She made another wild stab for him, only to look up and find the shorter, broader man charging at her from the doorway. “Logan don’t hurt her!” Remy cried, but the man was already on top of her, wrestling her hands back though she scratched and scraped at him with her claws.

                This man was stronger than the other, more than a match for her in her malnourished state. Still she fought, snarling and screaming and finally managed to slash at his neck. Blood sprayed across her and she looked on, waiting for the wound to weaken him.

                Instead it only seemed to piss him off. He grabbed her by the neck and knocked her back, slamming her down onto the now bloody rug beneath them and holding her there even as he continued to gush blood. “Little girl, you think them claws scare me?” he snarled at her, raising his other hand and showing his own three blades.

                She gawked, wide eyed below him. “Now you’d best be still, or I’m gonna have ta hurt ya, and I don’t want to do that.”

                “You’ll be dead soon.” She rasped.

                Logan smiled, “You think so?” He pulled down his collar, letting her see the wound she had created. The wound that was already clotting and mending. She stilled finally, gripping his arm as her own claws retracted.

                “You’re just like him…”

                “Like who?”

                “Logan,” Remy spoke from behind him then, drawing his attention. The man looked shaken, gripped by the display in front of him. Slowly the older mutant backed off the girl, growling at her to keep still, and she did.

                “Not as docile as you thought, huh?” Logan asked, looking at him. Remy moved to check his wound and then looked back down at the girl on the floor.

                “Who taught you to fight, chere?”

                She didn’t answer, staring up at him, expecting retaliation or punishment. “You say you a weapon. Who made you dat way, girl?”

                “Go to hell.” She muttered.

                Remy sighed and bent down beside her, “I can assure you, I already been. Now, come on up. Are you gonna behave yourself?”

                “Don’t get too close, Cajun,” Howlett warned.

                “She’s got to learn to trust us,” the copper haired man replied. “it de only way we can get her the help she needs.”

                “She needs to be with someone who can handle her. She’s feral. Aren’t ya, girl?” Logan asked, looking down at her. She nodded obediently.

                “Now why she play nice wi’t you all de sudden?”

                “Cause I’m the Alpha male. Just our nature.”

                Remy looked up at him. “’ _Our’_ nature?” he repeated. Logan nodded slowly, arms folded across his chest as he remained standing over the young woman, who would do nothing without his consent.

                “Feral mutants. It’s a name made up by more educated people than me. Before I came to this town I lived off the land, lived like a wolf in the wilderness. Charles Xavier found me that way, running naked around the desert, hunting for food and water.”

                “You mean…you lived like an animal?” Remy asked.

                “ _Was_ an animal, basically. We have a keener sense of smell, of sight, and hearing. We hunt weaker animals and eat them raw, we survive in harsh climates with little or no shelter. We revert to a more primal state.”

                “And you know she de same way, how?”

                “An animal knows another animal when he smells it.” Logan replied, looking down at the girl. The words rang in his head, and for a moment he felt like they weren’t his own. He felt dizzy for a moment, and his dominant stance over the girl faltered as he clutched his head.

                _Don ‘t remember. Don’t remember!_

                The girl didn’t miss a beat, however. She was up and lunging, seeming ready to tear at Logan’s throat. Remy grabbed for her and she slashed his arm. He yelped, but didn’t back off. She would have struck him again, were it not for Logan, who slashed at her with his own claws, cutting her shoulder wide and throwing her to the ground, climbing on her back and lifting her by her hair as he leaned over her.

                “Yield! _Yield, damn you!_ _I_ am your alpha now, and you _will_ obey me!”

                She hissed and whimpered, but finally nodded. He let go of her hair and grabbed her chin instead, turning her head towards Remy. “You see that man? He’s part of your pack now. We _do not_ hurt our own! You listen to him and if he speaks to you, you answer!”

                “Yes…”

                Logan turned her over, remaining over her but only just so. His hand was on her wound, trying to stem the blood, but even as he looked on he saw the bleeding had already stopped. She was healing, more slowly than he would, but healing all the same.

                “I don’t know who the hell you are, girl, but someone up there meant for me to find you. So you’re stuck with me. Not gonna hurt you, so long as you behave. Your part of my pack now, until I release you. We protect each other. Understand?”

                She nodded slowly. Logan lifted her up, helping her to stand on her feet as Remy looked on, completely stunned. “What’s your name?” he asked.

                The girl answered; “Laura.”

                “Good, Laura. Now, go back to the room and wait. I’ll bring you clothes and food.”

                “Yes.”

                “You can call me Logan.” He added.

                “Yes, Logan.”

                He nodded gruffly as she scurried away, not looking at either of them. Remy was dumb-struck, staring after her, as Logan came alongside him and examined his bleeding arm. “What de hell just happened?”

                “Ain’t you never seen animals in the wild? Young pups gotta learn who to listen to. Especially females. They’re more aggressive then men, hell of a lot smarter too. In the wild she’d be alpha of her own pack, I don’t doubt.”

                “But…she’s a girl. Not a wolf.” He looked to Logan, who was busy swabbing the blood from his wound, which was barely hurting and had already stopped bleeding.

                “She’s both. Whoever handled her before, they beat her into submission, tried to take the fight out of her by abusing her. She’s going to need a lot of work to set ‘er right.” Logan explained.

                He looked up to meet Remy’s eyes, expecting to find fear or disgust there. But the demon eyed man only looked at him with a sort of fascination. “You get more interestin’ every second, cher.”

                “Don’t take it lightly, Cajun. Ferals are at best temperamental. At our worst…” He looked away, leading Remy over to the wash bowl to clean the wound. Gambit turned his face towards him and leaned down to kiss him lovingly. “So…I’m part of de pack, eh?”

                Logan grunted. The smile that went across Remy’s face would have put the Cheshire Cat to shame and he almost cringed. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” the dark haired man replied. “Ye ever had sex with a feral before?”

                Remy gave an excited little shudder. “I’m eager ta try.”

                There came a little knock from the doorway and Jubilee poked her head in. “Um, Logan, we’ve got people down stairs.”

                “What people?” he muttered.

                “I believe she means me, Logan,” Hank said, appearing beside her. “As well as Charles, Scott, Ms. Grey and Ranger Cable.”

                Logan frowned. “Great. I _love_ company.”

 

**


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologizes for delay and short chapter, more chapters coming this week. Things are about to get very interesting. :)

 

***

 

                They sat at pair of tables facing the bar, which Logan stood resolutely against, Remy beside him on the right and Jubilee on the left. Laura had been told to stay in the room, but Logan sensed she was closer, hiding in the stairwell, listening.

                Scott, the Ranger, and Ms. Jean Grey sat at one table, while Charles and Hank occupied the other, all facing the little group lined up against the bar. Logan passed out drinks to everyone, while Gambit surveyed the two new-comers with watchful, specious eyes.

                The man who called himself Xavier, the honored Mayor he’d heard so much about in his short time in Tull, was meek looking with sharp blue eyes and milky pale skin, and a thinning head of hair. But Remy sensed the man’s kindness, his openness, his intelligence. He also sensed an impatience for this sort of trouble in his town.

                The woman with the head of flaming red hair was harder to read. She looked poised and polished, and her eyes were kind, but he sensed something boiling just under her surface that unsettled him. She sipped tea from a delicate China cup, and her eyes wandered between the Sheriff and Jubilee, whom she seemed most concerned with.

                “Thank you all for agreeing to sit down and discuss this matter,” Xavier spoke then, and Gambit noted the faint accent in his voice that denoted his East Coast upbringing. “It’s been quite some time since our little community saw violence of this nature. I cannot say that it doesn’t trouble me greatly, considering the great lengths we have gone through in the past to ensure order and safety for our citizens.”

                “Desole, M’sieur le Mayor, it was never my intention to bring trouble to your town. We were only passing through on our way to San Francisco.”

                “And what trouble did you mean to get into there?” Sheriff Summers asked. The man called Gambit glanced in his direction, “Not sure, homme. Remy was paid to play cards, be a diversion, fight when need be but no more.”

                “And what happened at Emma’s?”

                “An exception. A long time coming.”

                “I don’t think there’s any arguing what Mr. LeBeau stands accused of,” the white-haired Ranger said at length, puffing on a cigar. “I already have a confession, which can be confirmed by your Sheriff. Not to mention we have two witnesses to the killing.”

                “Can’t hang a man for killing in self -defense,” Logan growled.

                Cable gave him a long suffering look that told Logan very clearly he wished he would shut his mouth. “That may be, Mr. Howlett. But when you add this most recent slaying to the already long list of crimes…”

                “Crimes dat you have no proof of, no evidence, and no jurisdiction.” Gambit interrupted, glaring Cable down. He smirked at the stunned way both the Ranger and the Sheriff looked at him then. “What’s de matter, gentlemen? Surely you weren’t under de impression I was ever gonna come wit you quietly on de matter, or dat I was some kind of ignorant bayou boy who didn’t know de law from a hole in de ground?”

                “You deny these charges?” Cable growled.

                “I deny sole blame for dem, I deny de circumstances. I have been a hostage of de Darkholms for two long years, M’sieur. Whatever crimes I may have done, I did under duress.” Cable blinked at him and Remy’s smirk widened; “Dat means under threat. In case you wondering.”

                The Ranger rose from his seat and leered at the tall redhead and Logan growled low like a dog, watching the Texan’s every move.

                “I think you’re playin us, LeBeau. I think you’re twisting things around to suit your needs, and I don’t like a man who plays games with the law. How can I back up your story of being a hostage when there’s no one to vouch for you?”

                “I will, so will Jubilee.” Logan replied.

                “Indeed, Mr. Cable, I was the physician that attended Mr. LeBeau after he was previously attacked by Mr. Creed. It would indeed appear that he had suffered long-term abuse by the villain, which seems to fit with his story.” Hank spoke up then.

                “There’s still the matter of Emma’s establishment,” Scott added then, and Logan rolled his eyes.

                “If ya want reparations for the whore house, Summers, ya can have what’s in my till,” he growled, pointing to his register. “I’ve paid more to keep others out of that place, but if it will shut you up--!”

                Scott leveled a dangerous gaze at the man, “This is about more than that---“

                “Gentlemen, please,” The woman called Ms. Grey spoke then, “I think there has been more than enough fighting going on in Tull of late. I can’t imagine all this bickering is good for impressionable young minds,” she glanced at Jubilee, who glared back at her, huddling a little closer to Logan. “Where is the other young girl you rescued, Logan?”

                “She’s upstairs, Jeanie, but she ain’t none of your concern, not just yet.”

                “Why is that, my friend?” Charles asked.

                The dark haired man shifted somewhat uncomfortably, “She’s…feral,” he answered. “No offense to Ms. Grey, but putting that type of girl in a finishing school isn’t going to be the best place for her. She needs time to learn how to adjust to regular living, regular life.”

                “Then it sounds like she needs me more than ever,” Jean replied. “I’m not afraid of a challenge, Logan. I handled you when you first came here, after all.”

                Remy glanced at Logan and then at Jean, then looked away again, staring at the floor, fingers tapping nervously on the counter top. Xavier looked to the Ranger then, “Sir, I will offer you what might seem like an unconventional proposal. Are you aware that both Ms. Grey and I are gifted telepaths?”

                “No, sir.”

                “Well, that is just the case. It would be very easy for us to simply probe Mr. LeBeau’s mind and know for certain what his involvement has been with this gang.”

                Remy tensed, so did Logan, Jean and Hank, even Scott looked uncertain, but the Ranger only raised a brow, swilling his drink. “So what are you waiting for, Mayor? If you clear his name, ya better do so, I have other contracts elsewhere that need taken care of.”

                Xavier narrowed his eyes at the man slightly. “I am capable of telling you everything you need to know, Mr. Cable. But I would never do so simply to appease your suspicion or lighten your obligations. That would be a violation of everything I come to stand for. No man deserves to have his rights violated in such a manner, not even one accused of murder.”

                He glanced at Remy, who stared at him in shock. “Merci, M’sieur le Mayor…”

                “You needn’t thank me, Mr. LeBeau. All I ask is that if you indeed intend to leave that life behind you, as I sense you desire, that you comply with Sheriff’s questions and give him all the answers he requires. If Logan trusts that you are a good man, then that is all the validation I require.”

                “Merci, M’sieur. I will do as you ask.”

                “As for the girl, Logan, I will give you some time with her, as it seems to be important to you and you know best her current condition. However, once the girl is ready, I think it wise to release her to Ms. Grey. You can’t be taking in every stray that wanders into the town, my friend, however good your intentions.”

                Logan nodded, but said nothing.

                Cable slammed down his glass then, standing up and glaring around at the company. “Yer all a bunch of fools. Well, fools and one wolf in sheep’s clothing,” he glared at Gambit. “I say if he’s sorry for what he’s done, then he ought to prove it. One night in jail, under lock and key, just to make sure he ain’t planning on skipping town on the next train out.”

                “Back off, Ranger—“ Logan growled, his knuckles itching, ready to fight.

                Remy put a hand on his and he immediately softened, looking up at the taller man. “Non, mon ami. If dis is what I must do to prove myself, den so be it.”

                “Ye shouldn’t have to—“

                “Mon amour, allow me to do dis. It is the least I can do to begin repay my debt to you and your friends.”

                A little ripple of interest through the crowd at Gambit’s words, and even Logan seemed to faintly flush a little bit as Jubilee giggled. Remy leaned over and gave Howlett a tender kiss on the cheek. Hank chuckled into his tea, “Ah, young love.”

                “Very well, then it’s settled. I’m placing Mr. LeBeau under house arrest for the time being; I’ve got to confirm Creed’s death with the coroner and then head out to look for the others. By dawn tomorrow I want to see him sitting in the town jail.”

                “Do you agree to this, Mr. LeBeau?” Xavier asked.

                “Oui, M’sieur.”

                “Very well. Hank, I think our business here is concluded for the day. I suggest we all try to get back to normal as best we can. Scott—“

                “I’ve got my deputies posted around the town, Mayor, nobody moves in our out without our knowing.”

                They all stood to leave, but Jean lingered behind, “Logan, should you need any help, don’t be afraid to call on me. You know I only want what’s best.” She said gently.

                “I know, Jeanie. Thank you.”

                She leaned in and kissed his stubbly cheek, making both Gambit and Cyclops bristle. “I’m happy for you, darling. He seems lovely.”

                She bowed her head and swept past them both, nodding to Remy as she made her way towards the door, which Scott held open for her. Jubilee leaned on Logan’s arm. “She’s just trying to butter you up,” she muttered.

                “Don’t be hard on Jean, girl,” her caretaker chided gently. “She’s a good woman, and if I had any sense you would have gone to live with her long ago.”

                “Well I’m really glad you don’t then.”

                “Afraid I’m inclined to agree,” Remy replied. “You and she have history, non?”

                “Something that might have been once. But I’m afraid I’m more interested in a different breed of animal.” Logan chuckled, scratching his fingers through Remy’s silky hair. “You mean that, when you called me…you know?”

                “Indeed. I am love w’it you, Logan.”

                Logan leaned up and kissed him hotly and Jubilee giggled again, slipping off behind the bar somewhere to give them a little privacy. When the pair finally pulled away, Logan leaned his head against Remy’s shoulder. “Still don’t like the idea of you sitting in a cell.”

                “Not until tomorrow, mon cher, not until tomorrow. Let us concern ourselves w’it better t’ings for now.”

 

***


	13. Chapter 13

 

***

 

                Although Logan would have liked a quiet evening to take stock of things, he soon had more than a handful of angry patrons banging down his door, demanding service. As the town’s only watering hole (now that Emma’s was closed for repairs), he had an obligation to serve. God knows these poor dried out people needed their whiskey and their gin and some way to take their mind off things.

                By full dark, the Inn was full once more, filled of laughter and chatter and music. Jubilee was busy waiting tables, and even Bobby had returned to help serve guests and wash dishes, in exchange for all his meals for free and plenty of gossip.

                The Inn Keeper stood at the door then, all his patrons currently happy with their drinks and meals, enjoying the warmth and cheer that surrounded him. His eyes kept sliding to Remy, who was playing a friendly game of cards with a couple of people, doing tricks and entertaining the crowd. He had more than a few eyes on him, more than a few flirtatious glances from men and women and like. But for all his smiles, all his irrespirable charm, those red on black eyes always turned back to Logan, warm and smoldering.

                The dark haired man’s gaze moved from the crowd to the stairwell above then and saw Laura, creeping and crouching. He moved away from the door, tapped Bobby lightly on the arm, a familiar signal to watch the bar, and made his way up the steps.

                The girl watched him approach and moved deeper into the shadows once he was close. Her blue eyes flashed, and Logan read fear and confusion in them. “I’m sorry, I’ll go back to my bed. Please don’t punish me.”

                “You don’t have to,” he answered quickly, quietly. She seemed stunned, standing stock still, hands folded in front of her. She looked awkward, wearing nothing but one of his old shirts, which was practically a dress on her, and a hand-me-down pair of underthings from Jubilee, which were ill-fitting. “You don’t have to hide, girl. This place is mine, and you can roam about as like you, so long as you don’t disturb the guests.” He nodded down the hall towards the rooms for rent, all which were currently empty. “And as long as you abide by my rules.”

                “Am I…” she mumbled, staring at her bare feet. “To entertain the guests?”

                Logan stepped a little closer to her. “No. You ain’t here for anybody’s entertainment. Anyone tries to touch you that way, or asks you to do indecent things for them, you tell me, and I’ll take care of them.” He gave her a sorrowful glance, “How long they been using you for sex?”

                She didn’t answer, or didn’t seem to know. “Surely you got family somewhere that’s looking for ya. Where you come from?”

                Again she just stared. Logan’s heart ached and he drew her in against him, holding her gently. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

                “Why?” she asked.

                “Cause ain’t body should have to live like you have, darlin’. No body oughta be used that way. But people, sometimes, they’re cruel and they like to spread that cruelty around. But no more, not while you’re here. I’m gonna show you that life can be different. It can be better.”

                “Even for people like us?”

                He raised a brow. “Us?”

                “You said you were a feral too, yet you don’t seem wild as they say I am.”

                Logan exhaled slowly, “I put that part of my life behind me. A man can’t live like an animal forever, we just aren’t built that way.”

                “What if we are?”

                He tucked her long dark hair behind her ear and smiled, “Don’t worry about that now. Once you’re better, if you want to leave and go back to the wild, you can. Till then, you’re part of my pack, and I’ll look out for ya. Understand?”

                “Yes, Logan.”

                He put his hand on her shoulder, “Come on down, have something to eat. Anything you’re hungry for?”

                Another long blank stare, but she chewed her lip nervously, fingers twisting in the cuffs of his shirt. “They didn’t let you make a lot of choices, did they?”

                “No.”

                “Well, that’s going to change. Choices are part of what makes us what we are. Trust me, darlin’, you’re going to love it. And then you’re going to hate it, all at the same time.”

                She gave him a questioning glance and he laughed softly, giving her a little squeeze. “Want ya to think hard, alright. What’s something you remember tasting really nice? Anything at all, I’ll get it for ya.”

                Laura was quiet for a bit as he shuffled her into the kitchen and let her sit down on a little wooden stool by the center table where he chopped all his foods. He waited patiently for her answer, moving about to see what he could refill or put out to make the night run smoother. He noticed her eyeing a pewter pitcher on the far counter and he smiled. “Milk?”

                She nodded slowly.

                He took the pitcher and a glass, and brought them to her, pouring her a tall one. It was still cool and frothy, thick like cream. Laura took the glass cautiously between her pale hands and lifted it to her lips, chugging it down with ravenous thirst.

                Logan almost laughed at her enthusiasm, covering his smile with his hand. She was just like a child, tasting something for the first time.

                Jubilee came back through the swinging door then, carrying a wash tub of dirty dishes and spotted the two of them. “Well, someone decided to be sociable I guess.” She said with a little tilt of her head.

                She looked Laura up and down, “I like that look on you. You sure have nicer legs than I do. And tits too!”

                Logan grunted at her and she scuttled by him, “I ain’t sayin’ anything that ain’t true! You’re pretty…Laura, was it?”

                “Yes.”

                The short haired girl extended her hand. “I’m Jubilation Lee Howlett. Pleased ta make your acquaintance!”

                “Howlett?” Logan blinked. “Since when did you decide to tag that on there?”

                “Why not? You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

                “Lord save my soul,” the older man sighed. He heard Gambit approach him from behind, wrapping long sinewy arms around his waist and kissing the nape of his neck.

                “Don’t know about de Lord, but _I’d_ sure like ta give it a try,” he chuckled.

Logan reached back and scratched behind his ear fondly. “Thought you were entertaining the natives out there?”

“I was. Don’t worry, I let dem down easy.” He held out his winnings, which consisted of a few dollars, a watch and a necklace.

His lover turned to him, “Go give it back, Cajun.”

“Pourquoi?!” he gasped. “I won it, fair and square!”

Howlett shook his head, “These people ain’t no match for your skills with cards. Go on now.”

                Remy’s lips crumpled into a frown and Logan had restrain himself up from leaning up and kissing them, they looked so delicious when he pouted. “How’s a man supposed ta have any fun around here?” he mumbled.

                “We’ll just have to think of something else, darlin’.” Logan purred. Jubilee rolled her eyes and snatched some cheese from under its tray and handed it to the other girl.

                “Try this, it’s fresh and it tastes really good with some bread.”

                Laura stared at her and cautiously took the offering, pulling it back and hiding it on her lap. Remy moved away from Logan, grabbed some apples from a bowl and sat down beside her and grabbed a paring knife, slicing away the peel with delicate precision. He made several long slivers of the crisp white fruit and put them on a plate in front of the girl.

                Logan looked around at the four of them gathered together and something clicked inside him. This was right, this was damn near _perfect_ , he thought. This was what it meant to be content, to enjoy a simple life, with friends…maybe even _family._

                “Hey,” Jubilee said quietly beside him, giving his sleeve a little tug. He blinked at her, brought from his revere. “Why are you…?” She pointed to his face.

                Logan didn’t understand at first, then he blinked again and something fell from his lashes and realized there were tears in the corners of his eyes. He rubbed them away hurriedly, then rushed from the room.

                “Logan!”

                Gambit stood, “You stay, I go after him.”

                The short haired girl fixed him with a curious, almost reproachful look. “What do you know about it?” she retorted. “He needs someone he can talk to, and that’s _me._ ”

                Remy put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sure it is, petite. But dere are some problems dat men just ain’t keen to discuss wit de women in dere lives. Understand?”

                Begrudgingly Jubilee accepted, dropping the wash bucket on the table and biting into the rest of the unsliced apple, as Laura continued to nibble her food.

 

                Remy found Logan outside, leaning up against the post on the back porch near the water pump, the same place Remy had first saw him. The man was staring out into the darkness, taking shaky breathes.

                Slowly the leaner man came to stand beside him, leaning on the opposite post, looking up at the stars. It was a clear cold night, and he could see little puffs of breath in front of him. He watched the little misty tendrils curl up from Logan’s mouth and nose out of the corner of his eye.

                “You don’t like for people to see you got a heart under all dat muscle and fur, do you?” he said finally with a little smirk, hands stuffed into the pockets of his long coat.

                Logan didn’t look at him, and Remy wasn’t entirely sure the man had heard him. His gaze seemed cloudy and very far away, lost in thought or memory. Unpleasant memories, from the look of it. Remy sensed his distress, sensed the growing sense of panic under the man’s exterior. He moved closer, putting a hand lightly over his.

                “Cher, you alright? What’s got ya spooked?”

                Slowly Logan looked up at him, still breathing too fast. “I…um…” he licked his lips dryly. “I’m not really sure. Sometimes things come back to me…things I’ve forgotten, or maybe things I’ve dreamt. I can’t tell anymore.”

                “Bad t’ings?”

                “Mostly…”

                “You were another man before,” the redhead said slowly, studying his new lover’s features with great care, the way an artist looks over his potential masterpiece. “A man who fought a war, and a man who lived in de wild. But also a man who helped build a town, and adopted a child in need. Seems to me like you just not sure which man is de real one.”

                Logan nodded slowly, surprised at how easily Remy had given voice to a feeling he had never quite been able to pin down. His lover smiled at him and kissed his cheek softly. “De answer is simple, cher. You both. We all got lots o’ sides to us, good and bad. But dey all part of us, part of what makes us who we are. Embrace de bad…den let it go.”

                Logan looked at him in awe for a moment and Remy simply turned his eyes skyward then, as if wondering if he really believed his own advice, but feeling hopeful about it. He felt Logan brush his hand along his neck, bringing his attention back down to earth, and the man was leaning in close, drawing him in. “Remy, I love you.”

                “I love you too.”

                Logan pulled him in to kiss him deeply, tasting whiskey on the man’s lips and tongue and the tang of juicy apple, his scent mixing with all the smells of his bar and kitchen. Remy smelt like heaven. Logan sighed against him, rocking up into him and the taller man wrapped himself around him in return.

                Within minutes everything became heated and hazy. Logan found himself leading the tall Cajun back upstairs along the back corridor, avoiding being noticed by the patrons and back to their little apartment. The two hurriedly slipped into the bedroom, and the Inn Keeper took care to lock the door so that they would not be disturbed.

                He had no sooner started to turn around then the other man was tugging him towards him, undoing the buttons of his shirt and sliding him out of his clothing, all while kissing his lips, chin and jaw, moving down his neck.

                Logan let out a primal grunt of lust when Remy’s long fingers ghosted over the growing lump in the front of his jeans, eager for more contact. The redhead drew him back deeper into the room until he could seat himself on the edge of the bed, Logan standing in front of him. He kissed down the man’s broad chest and shoulders, fingers kneading the muscles in his back.

                The dark haired man sighed under all the careful attention, half wishing Remy would never stop while also was getting anxious for the more. It had been so long since he’d had someone. So long since he’d had a mate.

                The thief’s fingers undid his belt and dropped it to the floor, then pulled open the old worn denim, gasping softly as he got a glance at what was pulsing so heatedly underneath it. Remy had already seen Logan naked, but seeing him fully aroused and ready was quite something.

                He touched him gently and Logan let out a whimper that turned into a moan as his lover slid his palm slowly down the length of him before curling his fingers around him fully and tugging slightly. The demon eyed man looked up at him. “Have you had many lovers, cher?”

                “Wha…?” Logan grunted, somewhat in a haze of sensation, not quite understanding the question.

                Gambit chuckled and kissed his stomach, continuing to stroke him. “Have you taken a male lover before?”

                Logan stroked his hand through Remy’s long silky hair. “Does it matter?”

                “Non,” he replied. “I only want to make dis enjoyable for you.”

                “Then be with me. You’re enough.” He leaned down and kissed the man hotly, pulling him out of his coat and then prying him out of his borrowed shirt as well, lying him back on the quilts. He perched himself over him, admiring his flesh and the lines of his lean muscles. There were scars and bruises, some old, some new. Logan traced them with careful, curious hands, wanting to know their stories. Remy was quiet under him, sighing occasionally, his breathing quickening as his own arousal grew. He was drinking in Logan’s feelings, all warm and lusty and slightly cautious. He was soon light headed with them.

                After what seemed like an eternity of exploration with his fingers, the dark haired man dropped his head to Remy’s flesh and started tasting him, licking, nibbling, biting. Gambit’s eyes rolled in his head and he licked his lips, stretching one long arm up over his head and knotting it in the blankets as Logan licked down the ridge of his ribs and left a sharp love bite there.

                His hips rolled underneath Logan’s now naked form, and the feral growled hungrily and slid the man out of his own trousers, reaching down to wrap his hands around Remy’s own erection. He wasn’t nearly as thick as Logan, but he was a bit longer and far more sensitive, shuddering whenever he touched him.

                Logan pushed the man further up the bed so that he could slide down the edge and let his tongue leave a wet trail leading down to the flushed and throbbing skin beyond. Remy watched with amazement as Logan took him into his mouth without hesitation or restraint and gasped sharply then, as the man swept his hot tongue across the length and sucked hard.

                “Mon Dieu! Logan!”

                The dark haired man took his time with him, enjoying the sounds and shivers the other man made under his hands. Remy was so expressive and sensitive, Logan couldn’t have hoped for better. Especially since it had been so long since he’d pleasured someone in this manner. He was nervous he would clumsy or too rough.

                Gambit’s long hand came down caught his chin, gingerly plucking him back up the bed until Logan was settled over his frame. “Everything okay?”

                Remy nodded, face flushed and lips parted. He kissed Logan hard, taking the two of them together in his hand and squeezing, which made the older man whimper and moan. “Want more, s’il vous plait...”

                His lover nodded and pulled back reluctantly, reaching for the bedside table. He dipped his fingers in the excess oil for the lamp, pulling the lanky redhead into his lap, fingers probing and stretching a little a time beneath him. Remy shivered and shuddered against him, and Logan sensed his nervousness, stroking a calming hand down his back.

                Logan rested his head against Gambit’s shoulder, arms around him tightly, rubbing against the man, eager for entry, but hesitating. Remy threaded his fingers through his hair and stroked his neck, kissing the tip of his ear. “What’s wrong, cher?”

                “Afraid I’ll hurt ya…” he mumbled against his skin. “I can get rough…once it takes over. The animal in me, I mean…the other me.”

                Remy turned his head upward, looking into his eyes. “You won’t hurt me, Logan. I trust you. All of you.”

                “Why?” His fingers brushed the fading remains of bruises on his lover’s taught throat. Remy caught his fingers, and kissed them, before reaching around and steadying Logan against him before easing himself down.

                Logan gasped sharply as he felt himself slide into the man, hot and tight and slick with oil. “Oh _God_ …” he groaned.

                “Let de animal out,” Remy whispered into his ear, “I’m not afraid.”

                He wasn’t. Logan could smell it. In fact, it was the first time he _didn’t_ smell fear on the Cajun. He kissed the man harder now, gratefully, letting Remy rise and fall slowly on top of him as he adjusted to thick shaft inside him. As the pace began to quicken, slowly by degrees, Logan felt his primal side emerging, growling, nuzzling, tasting. He gripped his lover’s thighs, nails digging into smooth skin, lifting him a little higher before thrusting up into him more deeply. Remy groaned, gripping Logan’s shoulders, face against his neck.

                The feral nuzzled his shoulder and neck and then bit down, driving harder inside simultaneously, leaving a harsh red mark there, which he licked apologetically.

                Their pace became rough and driving, Remy doing his best to keep time with Logan though he felt the man growing more aggressive, more passionate. Still he sensed no danger from him, only desire and growing excitement.

                The Cajun found himself nearing the edge, stroking himself in time with Logan’s thrusts, until he felt the other man take his hand, pushing it away, and then leaning up to kiss him harshly. Remy moaned, feeling the scrape of the man’s sharp canines over his lip. He shivered a little.

                He looked down to find Logan’s blue eyes boring into his, bright and strange; primal and possessive. “Get on the bed, on your knees.”

                Gambit nodded slowly, reluctantly lifting himself off the other man and whimpering at the loss. Logan moved around him as the southerner crawled onto the old quilt, facing the window, hands nervously gripping the bed sheets. He tried to prepare himself for what he knew would come next. He’d experienced it all before, and many times without warning or preparation and with unsavory partners. He loved Logan. He trusted him. Whatever happened, the other man would take care of him.

                He felt the Inn Keeper position himself behind him, but rather than simply thrust forward, he leaned over Remy’s back, pressing warm kisses over his skin and stroking a hand down his chest and stomach. “I love you,” he reminded him.

                Remy nodded, rocking back against him. Logan grunted and grabbed his hip and Remy felt him slam into him, hard enough to make him yelp. “Ahh! Logan!”

                He surrendered himself over to the brutal pace, Logan bucking hard into him so that each time he pressed fully against Gambit’s inner sweet spot. Eventually the thief’s shaking arms refused to hold him, forcing him face down into the mattress. Logan reached around his hip, meeting the pace of his hips with his hand, earning another wanton gasp from the other man.

                “Mine…” Logan grunted, his voice guttural and strange. “My mate… _mine!”_

                “Oui,” Remy rasped, tangling his hand with his lover’s. “Oui! Yours!”

                Logan growled, twisting his hips slightly and Remy groaned in pain that time, but change in sensations was enough to finally push him over the edge and he shouted Logan’s name. The man behind him was leaving bruises on the sweat slick skin under him, growling and snarling until he finally threw back his own head with a roar and Remy felt him coat his insides.

                The Cajun went limp under him as he felt the last shivers of orgasm pass through him, heaving for breath and already beginning to ache. Logan bowed over his back, licking the salt off his skin and breathing Remy’s scent in deeply.

                After a moment he reached back and brushed his hand over Logan’s fingers, tentatively asking for release. Logan came back to himself and pulled out, allowing Remy to fully sink into the bed, legs shaking. The dark haired man crawled around beside him, lying next to him on the blankets. The demon eyed man looked back at him beneath the fringe of his lashes, eyes hooded and sleepy.

                “Mmm…mon amour, dat was…amazing.”

                The feral smiled, but his eyes were searching Remy’s, somewhat uncertain. He pushed back the damp strands of copper hair to look at the little wound he’d left on the man’s taught throat. Remy touched it fondly and then drew Logan in for a kiss. “Thank you, cher.”

                Logan bowed his head against his and the thief pulled the blankets over them, letting Logan lie partially on top of him, smoothing down his wild hair rubbing his neck. The blue eyed man listened to his lover’s steady pulse beneath his skin and watched the room flicker in the lamp light, hearing the distant sounds of the Inn below.

                Remy began to hum quietly and Logan recognized the tune as the same he had sung earlier, though he hadn’t understood the words. His eyes grew heavy and his body ached dully, sinking into deep relaxation under his lover’s careful touches. Remy may have thought that Logan was taking care of him, but it was really the other way around. Logan was existing before the Cajun had come, burying himself in the everyday mundane so that he wouldn’t have to feel, wouldn’t have to think about this forgotten part of him. The clever thief had breathed new life into him, reminded him of everything he had buried inside him, good and bad.

                There would never be enough ways for him to show his gratitude. He fell asleep there in the Cajun’s arms, listening to his breathing and his pulse, the mumbled words of his strange little song buzzing in his head, chasing through his dreams.

 

***


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

***

 

                “She’s gone!”

                Logan jerked up from a sound sleep, hands gripping the bed, his claws partially exposed and stared, wild eyed and disoriented in the direction of the cry. Underneath him Remy gasped sharply and Logan looked down to see that was doing his best not to move, lest he be impaled.

                “Who’s gone?!” he snarled at the girl, quickly backing off of Remy and being immediately reminded that they were both naked.

                Jubilee stared at them for a moment, clearly shocked, and Logan heaved a pillow at her; “Dammit, girl! Close the door!”

                She retreated quickly and Logan grabbed the quilt and tied it around his lower half, leaving Remy still blinking and dazed and nude on the sheets. “I thought you locked de door?”

                “I _did!_ ” Logan muttered, jerking the knob open again and finding that it was loose and jiggled. Just another thing he needed to get around to fixing. Jubilee was pacing in front of the door as he emerged, quickly closing it behind him again to allow Remy some privacy to dress.

                The little apartment was dark and there were no sounds from downstairs. The hour was late, much later than he expected. He could have sworn he’d only closed his eyes a few minutes ago. Jubilee was in her nightgown, robe hanging off her, looking very worried indeed, biting her nails.

                “What the hell is going on?”

                “It’s Laura, she’s gone! She ran away!” He grabbed his arm and tugged him towards her bedroom, where the girl had been sleeping. The window as open, the curtains fluttering in the cold night breeze. “I was freezing so I woke up, and she was gone! She was right beside me when we went to bed!”

                Logan could smell her still, very faintly, and moved to the window sill, breathing in the night air. In the streets below there was no sign of the girl, but her scent wasn’t entirely cold either. “ _Shit._ ” He muttered, turning on heel and marching back towards his room.

                Luckily when he entered this time Gambit was mostly dressed, still pulling on his shirt. “What’s happened?” the redhead asked.

                “She ran, gotta go after her,” Logan said hurriedly. Remy looked very worried indeed, rushing to the window and searching the darkened streets.

                “How long she been gone?”

                “Don’t know, we were all sleepin’,” Logan muttered, pulling on his pants and coat before hurrying towards the door, Gambit sweeping beside him. As they made for the apartment door, Jubilee joined them. Logan didn’t bother to tell her to remain behind; it was pointless.

                The three figures swept down the stairs into the silence of the Inn and out the back door, making for the road. In their worried state it never occurred to them that they were being watched, must less being followed.

               

                Logan followed the scent through the dusty streets of the town, past the train station, edging out into the wild landscape beyond.

                In the distance there was only short dry grass and cracked dirt for at least fifteen miles in this direction, and then just beyond that, low short trees and little hills that gave way to edges of low mountains just before the river.

                “How far could she have gotten?” Remy wondered beside him, his coat whipping about him in the night wind.

                “You might be surprised,” Logan muttered. He bent and touched the earth below him, breathing a little deeper. Jubilee and Remy watched him with silent curiosity. The hunter in him quickly picked up the trail. Laura was still barefoot he realized, catching a faint impression of her heel a little pass the tracks and noting the way the grass was bent but not flattened beyond.

                “She’ll freeze, or run into somet’ing unpleasant out dere, if she hasn’t already. All sorts of Coyotes and things roaming around dose hills beyond, I’d wager.”

                But it wasn’t the elements or nature Logan was concerned with. He picked up another smell, a more recent one, mingling on the air with hers. “I think your former friends might be out trying to get their investment back,” he said glancing back at Remy.

                The demon eyed man blinked in surprise before his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. “Raven. Still tryin’ to collect her prize. Not if I have anyt’ing to say about it.”

                Logan nodded and looked to Jubilee, “I ain’t gonna tell ya it’ll be dangerous because you already know. Are you sure you can keep up?”

                “When have I ever slowed you down?” the girl replied, arms folded.

                He nodded to her proudly. “Stay close, and get ready to run if I tell ya. I’m assuming you brought that gun.”

                She seemed momentarily startled. “How did you know I…?”

                “Do you know how to shoot it?”

                “Yes…I’ve been practicing with Bobby and Kitty.”

                Logan grunted. “Good. Cause I ain’t too sure how well your fireworks are gonna work out here.”

                He started off and they followed, keeping stride with his swift foot falls, eyes ahead, plunging into the long shadows beyond.

 

**

 

                The moon sank behind the clouds, and the stars seemed to be winking out one by one. Logan’s feral senses guided him in the dark, and he was happy to see that his lover remained fairly sure footed at his side. He wondered if his unnatural eyes afforded him better visibility in such conditions. Jubilee remained close, and he pretended not to notice the way she would occasionally cling to Remy’s coat tails to keep herself from being lost in the dark.

                Tull was a faint dot of light somewhere behind them now, and only the faint low whistle of a locomotive somewhere in the distance reminded them that it was there. They had come to the edge of the low trees before the hills.

                Logan stopped and sniffed the air. Laura’s trail was still fresh, though it was also becoming slightly harder to follow. The smell of the Darkholm women was fading off, much to his relief, but another smell had replaced it.

                He climbed upon a rocky boulder and looked down over the sloping crest of the ledge that lead to more trees below and wide expanse of prairie grass. The wind kicked up and he could smell them now. Buffalo.

                His companions came to join him at the edge of the hill, looking out in the dark. “Oh wow…” Jubilee whispered, crouching down in the grass and watching the great beast as the grazed. There were maybe thirty or forty of them all together, though there could have been more that she simply couldn’t see. “They’re beautiful. Ugh, and they smell!”

                Remy chuckled beside her, “Most things in nature do.” He seemed rather in thrall of the animals as well, and Logan wondered vaguely if he’d ever seen a live one before. “Are dey dangerous?”

                “No,” he answered. “They’ll leave us alone as long as we leave them alone.”

                Remy nodded, then looked suddenly to his right, causing Logan to do the same. Something moved at the edge of the trees, something that flashed. Eyes, bigger than an animals, and blue, peering at them in the dark.

                The Cajun stared to move forward, but Logan held out a hand to stop him. “No, you’ll spook her. Let me.” His lover nodded reluctantly, keeping position as the shorter man moved off very slowly towards the tree line.

                Laura retreated as he expected, but he had her scent now, and could easily track her movements in the dark. They were hurried and careless, more concerned with distance than with stealth.

                Once inside the thicket he stopped moving all together, catching sight of her about eight yards away from him, moving down a rocky slope, crouched behind a rock.

                “Where are you running to, girl?” he called. “There’s nothing out this way for miles, except the river and the mountains and more desert beyond that. Go much further and you’ll be on Comanche land. They aren’t fond of intruders.”

                The girl stood slowly, staring at him in the darkness. “I can’t stay with you. I don’t belong there, in your world. You want to keep me trapped in your house, however nice it is.”

                Logan almost chuckled; “No, not really. Far as I’m concerned, yer just another mouth to feed, one I probably can’t afford.”

                “Then you would send me away. You’ll send me to that woman.”

                “I’m not going to send you anywhere you don’t want to go, Laura. Part of the pack, remember?”

                She shook her head and Logan smelled something; salt. She was crying. “You’re lying. You’re all a bunch of liars! I don’t belong there! I don’t belong anywhere!”

                She took off at a run and Logan followed her, trailing behind at first, until he saw her intended path. She was running recklessly through the tree line, down towards the meadow, straight into the herd.

                “Laura! Laura stop!” he bellowed.

                She was too quick, even for him. He made to pounce on her twice and she narrowly evaded him, slipping like a doe from the claw of a mountain lion. “Laura! NO! STOP!”

                She had cleared the trees and was barreling right towards the animals, who sensed her and began to shift and groan and grunt, sensing danger. Within seconds the ground began to shake, raising a cloud of dust beneath their stamping hooves as they began to stampede.

                Back at the top of the hill, Remy and Jubilee heard Logan’s cries and saw the herd below began to bellow and grunt, bolting in one direction or another. “Oh non,” Remy gasped, moving a little further down, poised to run.

                “Dey in trouble. Petite, you go—“

                He turned and saw to his absolute astonishment that they were not alone. The Ranger had followed them somehow and now stood behind them, his riffle leveled at Jubilee. The girl stood with her arms raised, as stunned as he was.

                “What are you doing!?” Remy gasped.

                “You broke the arrangement, Gambit,” the silver haired man said, advancing slowly upon them. “I knew you would try to run.”

                Remy’s hands crackled with pink light, “You bastard, we came out here lookin’ for de girl! She in trouble, now put dat damn t’ing down and help us!” he gestured to the thundering pack beyond, but Cable didn’t even glance at it.

                “She’s no concern of mine. _You_ are. Put your hands up and surrender quietly.”

                “Like _hell_ I will.” He reached into his pocket and flung a burning card at Cable’s head, just as he turned to shoot him. The card struck the weapon and made the shot go wide. Gambit leapt for Jubilee, pulling her away. “Run! Into the trees! Find Logan!”

                “Not leaving you!”

                “Do as you’re told!” he bellowed, another shot coming dangerously close to him as the Ranger fired again. Jubilee ran to the edge of the trees, ducking behind the widest one for shelter and pulled her own gun from the holster around her waist, leveling it at Cable. Her fingers trembled and her palms became too slick. She wasn’t sure she could pull the trigger.

                In front of her the Thief and the Ranger battled one another in a deadly dance, Cable giving up his gun in favor of a close range weapon. But the former outlaw was too quick for him, sliding in and out of his grasp like a snake and dealing him blow and after blow, attempting to bring the zealous law man down.

                They were too close now, she couldn’t fire. The sound of the stampede was rumbling in her ears, shaking the earth below her, and Logan’s distant cries broke her concentration. It was no wonder then that she did not notice the new danger that appeared, creeping up behind her.

                She felt hot breath on the back of her neck and smelled something that stank of blood and sweat. She rolled over, looking up at the beast that had snuck up on her and screamed.

                Gambit heard the cry and turned towards the trees. “Jubilee!” The moment’s distraction cost him. The Ranger dealt him a brutal blow to the head, then to gut, kicking him down the hill. Gambit went head over heels, the sky and earth spinning in turn as he flipped and rolled and finally came to a stop several yards away.

                He shook the dizziness from his head, just into to hear a roar that sounded like it came from a beast that had clawed its way up from the bowels of Hell itself. He heard Cable yell, then scream and heard an awful crunch of bone.

                Blinking up he saw a massive figure slash his claws across the Ranger’s throat before throwing him to the ground. Remy froze, stunned and terrified. The beast turned to look at him, bloody and grinning, gold eyes shinning.

                “Did you miss me, Cajun?”

                Remy screamed.

 

 

                Below in the meadow, Logan chased Laura, hearing nothing but the sound of thundering hooves and the panicked grunts of fearful animals. The girl was running straight into them though they fled her, fearing she was a predator.

                He made a grab for her, but he missed again, falling in the dirt. He got up with a grunt of frustration, only to have her turn and slash at him. She caught him across the face and nearly put out his eye. He grabbed her claws and flung her to the ground with a scream of her own.

                _“Stop this! You’re gonna get yourself killed!”_ he bellowed.

                She crawled away, stumbling blindly into their path. Logan realized then with horrible clarity that it was exactly what she wanted. Death.

                A bull Buffalo was charging towards her then, horns down and belting. She stood there, arms open, eager for death. Logan cried out and tackled her to the ground, covering her body with his as the beast trampled him into the earth. His insides mashed and bled, his bones breaking into splinters. Under him the girl screamed and beat at him, trying to force him off her, but he wouldn’t budge.

                And then nothing.

                Logan slumped over her, apparently dead. The sounds of hoof beats died off into distance, as the dust slowly began to settle. The world around them grew quiet again.

**

                Time passed and the girl beneath him awoke, feeling the man above her breathing shallowly. She was surprised to find him alive, sure he had been crushed to death. Then she remembered how he had healed from her wounds before. She rolled him over with some effort and crouched over his body. She knew she should had fled then, made her way out into the wilderness alone. But she found she could not bring herself to leave the brave man.

                No one had ever put themselves in danger for her before, much less give their life. And Logan had, she was sure. He had died, but not entirely. Like her, death eluded his grasp, his body healing of it’s own will despite the trauma. She watched as his chest, which was crushed inward, ribs poking through his flesh, began to correct itself, inflating and realigning. He began to breathe easier, going from faint wheezes of air to deep easy breathes.

                A little moaned passed his lips and he woke up, seeing her sitting beside him in the trampled grass. He said nothing, just blinking at her. Finally he put a hand on her knee in a gesture of comfort.

                “Why?” she asked him.

                He sat up slowly, groaning as he did so. His clothes were ruined, his favorite jacket a bloody tatter around his frame. There was mud and grass and blood in his hair. “You really gotta ask that?” he coughed, rubbing his chest. “Oh God…ain’t had a beatin’ like that in awhile.”

                He stood up, extending a hand to her and helping her to her feet. They looked off into the distance seeing the herd now far away. “Listen girl, I’ve walked in your shoes. I know it feels like it will never end. Maybe it won’t. So instead of wallowing in the grief, you have to try to do something good with the time you’ve got. That’s all I’m tryin’ to show you, Laura. A better way.”

                “But…I don’t know how.”

                He smiled through his mask of dirt and blood. “That’s okay. I do.”

                He looked up towards the hill then, seeing the first rays of sunlight coming over it, and suddenly realizing how quiet everything was and wondering how much time had passed, and why Remy and Jubilee had not made themselves known. He listened for a moment and heard nothing. Not a sound.

                His heart began to pound as he started up the hill again, Laura trailing behind him. “Remy? Jubilee!”

                His nose crinkled then, assaulted by the heavy smell of blood. He took the last few feet a run and then came to a sudden stop, crouching in the dirt. Before them laid the body of the Ranger, broken and bloodied, his throat slashed wide.

                “Jesus Christ…” he muttered. He looked around hurriedly, sniffing for his other companions. The blood smell was mingled with others, two he recognized and one that chilled him. Something that smelled like stale sweat and grave dirt.

                Logan followed the tracks left in the dry grass. It was burned in places, surely a sign of Remy’s exploding cards. There were also places where the ground was clawed and torn, and spatters of blood as well.

                “Remy! Jubilee! Remy! Jubilee!” he shouted over and over, getting no answer. Finally Laura tugged at his arm before moving swiftly past him, off to the west where the Buffalo had retreated, down another hill to another patch of trees. As he followed her, he began to hear the sound of crying.

                Once over the little ledge, he saw her. Jubilee was huddled under a little overhang of rock, her clothes torn and bloodied. Logan rushed to her, falling in the dirt beside her and pulling her into his arms, looking her over from head to toe. “Where are you hurt? What happened? Jubes, darlin’, talk to me!”

                She was crying hysterically, and Logan had to shake her to get her to snap out of it. “Look at me, girl. What _happened.”_

                “That _thing_ took him! He took him! I think he killed him!”

                “Creed.” Laura said suddenly behind them, staring further down the trail into the trees. “He’s here.”

                Logan stared between the two of them. “Not possible. He’s dead. He’s _dead_ , dammit!”

                The long haired girl turned her gaze on him, “So were you a few moments ago.”

                “What?!” Jubilee yelped.

                Logan shushed her again and slowly got her to her feet. She was scratched and shaken, but didn’t seem to be harmed too badly. Most of the blood didn’t seem to belong to her. He handed her off to Laura, who awkwardly tried to steady her. “Stay here. Protect each other. I’m going to look for Remy.”

                He started off for the trees at a trot, eyes and ears drinking in all the sights and sounds, trying to hone in his lover’s whereabouts. The smell of blood was still heavy in the air, along with dust and Creed’s own animal like stink.

                Logan followed it deep into the shade of the stunted pines. They went on further than he guessed, and he crept along, watching and listening. Remy’s scent hit him then, and he knew he was close. He crept along the trail between the trees and came upon another rocky ledge. And there he saw him.

                Sprawled naked upon the ground was Remy LeBeau, claw marks all over his back and thighs, a pool of blood forming under his head. Logan stood in dizzying shock for a moment at the horrendous sight and then ran, falling to the man’s side.

                “Remy…?”

                Logan could smell Creed all over him. From the looks of the blood smears on Remy’s thighs, he knew that Creed had raped him, brutally. The claw marks down his back and arms were gaping, but the worse damage was just out of sight. Trembling, Logan pushed back Remy’s matted hair and turned his head. Creed had slashed his throat.

                Logan gaped silently at his lover’s broken form, feeling like the world was falling in around him. “No…no, no…please God…no…”

                Something moved in the shadows and Logan almost didn’t register it.

                “Looks like I got a little rough,” a guttural voice laughed softly. “Sometimes ya just gotta give the animal what it wants. Right, _James?_ ”

                Logan whirled on him, his claws drawn, eyes wide and blazing with rage and loss.

                Creed laughed at him. “Haha, aww…that look never gets old. You had that same stupid lost puppy look on your face when I gutted the last stupid redhead you fell in love with. Remember, Jamie?”

                “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Creed, but I’m gonna kill you for what you done!”

                The other mutant bared his own claws, the long bloody talons at the end of his fingers, which were still sticky with Remy’s blood. He licked one, just to watch Logan squirm. “He was good ya know. A real screamer. But, I’ve had ‘im before, and after he ran off with you, well…I didn’t have much choice but to put him down.”

                Logan screamed and launched himself at the bigger man and Creed met him head on, the two colliding brutally. Logan slashed at his neck and face, sending blood spurting everywhere, while Creed bit into his shoulder, tearing it wide before grabbing the man by the neck and hurling him into a tree.

                “Come on, Howlett! Snap out of it! If we’re gonna finish this, then we’re doing it right! Admit who you are!”

                Logan just roared at him again, bounding off a rock and spinning into a kick which broke Creed’s nose and sent him rolling down the embankment Logan leaping after him only to catch him at the root of the tree and drive his claws into the man’s guts, twisting and hacking.

                Creed laughed even as he gurgled blood and managed to get one foot up under the shorter man’s body and kick him backwards. Logan fell back onto the ground and Creed followed, already healing from his near evisceration.

                “Stop pretending!”

                _“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”_ Logan bellowed.

                Creed reached up and brought down a heavy branch, which he used to knock Logan back by several feet, dislocating his jaw and tearing into the soft flesh of his cheek. The man laid in the dirt in a daze for a moment, and Creed came to stand over him, grinding his heel into his back.

                “You little fucker. You really _don’t_ remember me, do you? And here I thought we were just the best of pals…well, let me jog your memory.” He stomped on the man’s back until he heard a satisfying crack, then rolled him over and crouched on top of him.

                “It was snowing, remember? Cold as hell and snowing like it weren’t ever gonna end. And it was you and me against a whole battalion of fuckin’ grey coats. And we tore ‘em apart. You and me, Howlett. We used to be a hell of a team, tearing our way through enemy lines. Until you met that girl…that stupid little red headed bitch. What was her name again? Oh yeah… _Rose._ ”

                Logan’s eyes widened and he went utterly rigid beneath Creed.

                He remembered. Oh _Christ_ , he remembered!

                His nightmare came back to him in vivid detail, only it wasn’t a nightmare, it was a _memory._ He was a Union Solider, a special operative, along with Victor Creed, whom had been employed for their particular special talents of tracking and hunting.

                Back then he’d gone by the name James. He was an expert fighter, hunter and tracker, who was eager to prove himself. War was just what needed. He relished the thrill of battle, of defeating his enemy, of overcoming the odds.

                But the horrors of war, the needless bloodshed of innocents began to weigh on his mind as it never did with Creed. And he sought solace, he sought peace of mind, and maybe even redemption. Back then, he had found it in the form of a young woman named Rose.

                That night, after the ambush in which he had slaughtered the young troops, Logan had retreated to her, disgusted with himself, determined to take Rose and desert the army, and go as far North as they dared. But Creed had followed him.

                The yellowed eyed man laughed at him, rubbing a bloody finger along Logan’s lips. “Remember me now, _Jamie_ _boy?_ You thought you could walk away from ol’ Victor. But you were wrong. Boy were you _wrong.”_

                He laughed again, loud and boisterously. “Funny how history repeats itself huh!?’

                But his laughter was cut short when Logan drove his claws through the man’s throat, the blades protruding all the way back through his spine. The dark haired man shuddered below him, looking up at him with mad eyes.

                _“You bastard. I remember you now. YOU BASTARD!”_ He slashed Creed so wide that it nearly decapitated him and he tumbled off Logan, slumping backwards in a heap, blood spraying the ground. Logan screamed and continued to mutilate the seemingly dead man, howling like a mad man as he did so, all his buried memories flooding his senses and blurring the edges of reality.

                Finally Creed was a barely recognizable pulp under him and Logan was bathed in blood. He stood screaming and weeping over the body, hands in his hair. He looked up and saw Remy lying in the grass and began sob even harder.

                Then he heard a soft click of a trigger.

                He looked up and saw Sheriff Summer standing there at the edge of the clearing, staring at him in utter shock. “Oh Logan…what have you done?”

                The other man said nothing, just blinking at him. Scott moved towards him and Logan backed away. “Don’t try to run, Logan. You need help. Let me take you back to the Professor. He’ll fix you, like he did before.”

                “I can’t go back…” Logan mumbled in small voice that didn’t seem like his own.

                Scott looked to him pleadingly. “The Ranger is dead. So is Remy. Now this man too. Let’s end this.”

                Logan continued to back away, eyes wild and frightened. Scott raised the gun, hoping to wound the man in order to subdue him, only to find himself suddenly flung to the ground as someone leapt upon his back. He looked up, spitting dirt, to see the girl from Emma’s go bounding across the ground towards Logan.

                She grabbed his arm and together they started running. He scrambled up, reaching for his weapon, but didn’t dare try to shoot, afraid he would kill one of them. “LOGAN! LOGAN!”

                But soon the two vanished through the pines and off into the distance. He turned back with a curse, grimacing at the bloody remains of the man in front of him and made his way back towards LeBeau’s body.

                Jubilee was there, crouched beside him with the man’s head in her lap. He looked at her piteously, “Oh, honey, move away from him now…”

                She looked up at him with wide, tear filled eyes. She was smiling. _“He’s alive!”_

 

***


	15. Chapter 15

 

***

 

                The weather turned cold. A damp wind came in, bringing cold rain with it that turned the hard pan dirt roads muddy and freezing. Jean Grey observed the quiet comings and goings of the town from her second story window, a cup of warm tea in her hand. She pulled her shawl a little closer around her shoulders, giving a little shiver, and towards the little fireplace in the corner of the large bedroom. She stoked the flames and sat the cup down on the little saucer on the table. She then turned to the man upon the bed.

                Remy LeBeau had not yet regained consciousness. That was still living at all was nothing short of a miracle, and a credit to Hank McCoy’s medical skill. His throat had been slashed, but the wound had been shallow, made in too much of a hurry and had missed severing the major artery and wind pipe. The other wounds had been cleaned, sutured and bound. They would leave scars, but there was little to be done for that.

                His body was healing slowly, but it was his mind that was her current concern. From what Jubilee and Scott had told her, Remy had suffered horrible trauma, one that would likely leave lasting mental scars. Jean had taken over his care, as well as that of young Jubilee, while Logan remained missing.

                It had been seven long days with multiple search parties. But no one had found any sign of Logan, or the young girl named Laura.

                Jean sat beside Remy, adjusting his blankets and feeling his hands, making sure that he was neither too cold nor too hot. She heard a little sound behind her and turned to find Jubilee there.

                “Come on in, dear,” she said warmly.

                The short haired girl slipped into the room, moving cautiously around Jean. Gone were her usual boyish garments, replaced by a dark pink dress and lace up boots. “How is he?” she asked.

                “The same.” Jean replied with a little nod. She glanced at Jubilee’s hands, “Is it time for reading already?”

                “I, um, was going to read to _him_.” The girl said, nodding to Remy’s still form. “You did say he could hear me, right? That it might help him wake up?”

                “Yes,” Jean nodded. She stood, moving over to the tea table and pouring the girl a cup as she made herself comfortable at the edge of Remy’s bed, leafing through the pages of her book. It was a book of poetry by William Blake. Jean smiled at her curious choice.

                “Any word from Scott?” the girl asked.

                The school teacher shook her head. “I’m afraid not, honey. They rode as far as the river and about thirty miles south, but there’s been so sign of him or of your friend Laura. Scott thinks they might have caught a train back East.”

                Jubilee frowned, “That doesn’t make any sense to me. There’s nothing out East for him.”

                Jean looked at her gently, “Jubilee, I know this has been very hard for you. Logan is as much your father as your own flesh and blood. But there is much you do not know about him, about who he was before he came to Tull.”

                The girl glared up at her new guardian. “I don’t care about any of that. And I’m tired of being told by people like you and Sheriff Summers that I didn’t _know_ Logan. I _knew_ him, Ms. Grey. Better than any of you. I knew what he was like when he was drunk and angry, and I knew what he was like when he was happy.” She knew all his smiles, all his long stares, the way he took such care in teaching her to cook, and sew, as well as to build and repair the inn and dozen other pursuits. Logan loved her, and she loved him. “I know he saved all your asses more than once, and that you all looked down on him for what he was. I’ve heard the Sheriff call him a wild dog behind his back, and _you_ agreed with him!”

                “That’s not true,” Jean said stiffly. “We never looked down on Logan. He was our friend.”

                “He loved you. But you threw him away for the Sheriff. And then he threw you away for that woman that runs the whore house.”

                Jean stiffened angrily. “Lashing out at me will not bring him home.”

                The short haired girl stared at her hands. “I’m sorry. I just… _miss_ him.”

                Jean nodded and turned towards the door again. “I have lessons now, Jubilee. You may attend, if you wish. You are an excellent student, a real example to the other girls.”

                But Jubilee just shook her head, gripping one of Remy’s limp hands. “I’m going to stay with him for awhile. He likes it when I read to him. His hands feel warmer.”

                Jean nodded and excused herself. Jubilee sighed as she left, dabbing at her eyes. Jean really did mean well, she knew. And she should be grateful for all her devotion and care, to both of them, over the last long days. But she didn’t entirely trust the woman either. In the past, Logan would drink heavily and often pass out. When he did, he would cry out about Jean, sometimes because he missed her, and sometimes because…she was hurting him. Jubilee had asked the man once, and only once, about this and he had quickly made it clear she should never ask again. He had quit drinking after that.

                She turned to Remy, studying his face. He had gone paler, and the hollows of cheeks had become more stark. Jubilee pushed back a stray strand of his hair, which had become dull and limp. She decided she would wash it for him today.

                “You’d better wake up,” she told the man. “I need you to help me find him, and I know you can. You miss him just as much as I do. I can see it in the little lines of your mouth.” She squeezed his hand. “But waiting and wishes ain’t gonna bring him home. So you need to quit lying around and get up and help me find him. Okay?”

                She let go of his hand and picked up the book, thumbing through the pages of the book in search of an interesting passage that she thought he might like. There came a little whimper then and when she glanced up, she saw to her sheer shock that Remy’s eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

                She dropped her book in shock and leapt up, clutching her chest. “Remy! Remy are you…” She leaned over him, almost afraid something else was wrong with him, only to have the Cajun turn his head towards her with some effort, eyes unfocused. “Logan…where’s Logan?” he whispered.

                The girl all but squealed in delight, grabbing his hand and squeezing it between hers, kissing his fingers before then leaning over and planting a wet smooch on his stubbly cheek. “You heard me! You actually _heard_ me! Oh Mr. LeBeau I could kiss you!”

                He winced at the volume of her voice and she immediately calmed herself, tucking another pillow behind his head to help prop him up. The other man seemed very weak indeed, and disoriented. It seemed a struggle for him to even lift his head. “What…happened to me?”

                “You don’t remember?” she asked.

                Remy’s eyes fluttered tiredly and he whimpered again, reaching for his throat. He seemed surprised then when he felt the bandages there. Jubilee watched as some memory flickered across his eyes, the way his expression changed from confusion to distant dread. “Don’t worry about that now. You’re alright now, you’re safe here.”

                “Where’s here?” he asked. He winced, rubbing his throat, and Jubilee scrambled for a glass of water, which he drank with some effort.

                “We’re at Ms. Grey’s house. She’s been helping me look after you. Or I’ve been helping her. However you want to look at it.” She was almost in tears as she leaned over to kiss his forehead. “I can’t believe you heard me. I thought I was gonna lose you too.”

               

The Cajun seemed very confused by this indeed. He fussed with the blankets, finding his limbs weak and almost uncooperative, and finally managed to climb to the edge of the bed. Jubilee got her arms around him and helped him to stand. Remy caught a glimpse of himself in the long standing mirror on the opposite side the bed and gave a little gasp at his own disheveled figure, covered in bandages. His knees buckled and Jubilee put him down on the edge of the bed again.

                “Easy, easy! You’ve been out cold for almost a week, go easy on yourself.”

                The Cajun put his head between his hands, straining for memory, but finding none. “What happened to me, petite? Last t’ing I recall, was standin’ wit you on de hill and Logan was in trouble.”

                Jubilee looked at him cautiously. “You don’t remember anything after that? Not even fighting the Ranger, or…” she hesitated. Remy searched her face for answers, but she avoided his eyes. Still he could sense great pity and sorrow from her, even horror.

                They heard footsteps then and a little whistling sound and looked up just as Hank McCoy turned to enter the room, studying his pocket watch and carrying his medical bag. It was time for his daily appointment with Remy. But the moment he saw the young man sitting up at the edge of the bed he nearly jumped out of his furry blue pelt.

                “Star and garters! Mr. LeBeau!”

                Jubilee kept her arms around the injured man, smiling over at the other. “He’s awake, Doc! Can you believe it! He’s awake!”

                “You keep sayin’ dat like it somet’ing special,” Remy mumbled wearily. “And nobody answerin’ my question. Where is Logan?”

                Hank moved swiftly beside the young man, taking out his stethoscope and thermometer, quickly checking his vitals. “It is, in fact, a very big deal that you are awake and alert, my friend. Much less speaking. You gave us quite the scare!”

                Tentatively the thief touched his bandaged throat, feeling a long tender spot across it. It didn’t take much for him to guess what had happened, but he couldn’t remember who or why. The harder he tried, the more his head ached and the dizzier he felt.

                Suddenly he was falling back with Hank catching him in his big hands and easing him back into the pillows. “Rest, my brave friend. You mustn’t push yourself too hard. Your body has been through a lot, it must have time to recover.”

                “Not my body dat troubles me,” he mumbled. “It’s de void in my mind. Why can’t I remember?”

                Hank glanced carefully between him and the girl for a moment before getting to his feet again, “Stay right here, I must go and speak with Ms. Grey.”

                He excused himself and Jubilee tucked Remy back into the bed, his eyes already growing heavy again. “Petite…are you wearing a dress?” he asked with a little smile in the corner of his lips.

                “Shush, she made me.” The girl answered.

                “You look pretty.”

                He was asleep again in seconds, but Jubilee wasn’t afraid this time, knowing he would be awake again soon. Instead she moved off towards the door, hearing Hank’s voice drifting from downstairs. She saw the pair standing in the middle of the foyer, just beyond Jean’s classroom.

                “He’s awake?” she heard the woman gasp.

                “Yes, and something very troubling indeed has come to my attention, Jean,” the doctor replied in low, measured tones. “He can’t seem to recall what happened to him.”

                Jean shrugged her shoulders, “Is that all? I would think after all the trauma he’s been through, and considering the severity of his injures this wouldn’t be uncommon.”

                “I would agree with you, were it not for a certain word that he used in describing his memory loss. A ‘void’, was what he said. He nearly fainted just trying to recall the events.” He moved a little closer to her, drawing himself up to his full height. “Jean…what did you do to him?”

                The woman looked away, her arms folded in front of her. “You know me better than that, Hank. You know I would never use my powers to harm someone. His mind was in such turmoil, there was such pain. I thought he would heal faster if I…”

                Jubilee gasped quietly and then quickly covered her mouth and ducked back away from the stair rail when they began to look up. She remained flatten against the wall as Hank continued, more loudly this time; “You wiped his memory? Jean, how could you!? You had no right!”

                “I saw a man suffering and I did what I thought was best!”

                “Just like you did with Logan!?” Beast thundered. “What that _really_ for the best?! Stealing a man’s memories, stealing his past, just so--!”

                “Is there a problem here?”

                They all looked to see the door of the house had been opened and in its threshold stood Charles Xavier.

 

***


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

                Remy woke again to the sound of rain pelting the window. He laid very still for a moment, collecting his senses, testing his awareness. The void in his mind was still there, but his other memories were trying to knit themselves together around it. He was alone in the unfamiliar room, with no sign of Logan, Jubilee or Laura.

                He half recalled his earlier conversation with Jubilee and Doc McCoy, but it was hazy at best and he was almost uncertain if it was real.

                He heard voices talking somewhere beyond his room. Grunting he forced himself up out of bed, feeling slightly stronger than he did with his last attempt. He fumbled for a robe to pull over his naked torso, and limped towards the door, following the sound.

                Down the hallway he saw a light coming from another door where the voices emanated. They were both male, and he recognized them as the doctor and the mayor’s. Edging along the wall for support, he paused at the doorway listening.

                “…you mustn’t be too hard on her, Hank. Jean’s compassion is both her greatest strength and her perhaps her greatest fault. If she saw something so disturbing in Mr. LeBeau’s mind that she decided to place a mental block there, it must have terrified her indeed .”

                The blue beastly man sighed heavily and Remy heard the delicate clink of china and smelled the strong herbal tea he was drinking. “I am trying, Charles. But it angers me all the same…with Logan perhaps it was understandable. I recall the state he was in when he first arrived here. But I hardly think such drastic actions were necessary with Mr. LeBeau.”

                “I am concerned as well,” Xavier replied. “I fear we might have lost a vital clue as to where Logan might have retreated with the young girl.”

                The man looked up then, “Please come in, Remy.”

                The Cajun nearly jumped he was so startled, but then edged his way around the door, looking at the two men nervously. Hank rose from his seat immediately and went to him, taking his arm and ushering him into a soft chair, “My friend, you should be resting.”

                “Slept long enough, feels like.” He mumbled. He looked skeptically at the Mayor, “Got an awful lot of questions, don’t suppose you have some answers for me?”

                Xavier smiled kindly at him, “I will do my best. But first, let me pour you some tea.”

                “Prefer coffee, if you don’t mind,” Remy replied. Xavier nodded and poured him a cup, which he sat before him. He put a hand on Remy’s arm, feeling the dampness on his skin and the way he shook. “Breathe, relax. You are safe here.”

                “Where’s Logan?”

                Hank smiled at the man’s single-mindedness and sat down beside him, taking his pulse as Remy begrudgingly held still for him.

                “Missing, I’m afraid.” The other man answered.

                “How long?”

                “A week has passed.”

                Remy seemed shocked, gazing at the black liquid inside his cup. “I’ve…missed an entire week?”

                “You suffered great injury,” Hank explained. “The blood loss alone…the first few days were very touch and go. I was very fearful you wouldn’t survive.”

                “Survive _what_?” he muttered, growing irritated.

                “Sheriff Summers states that he found Logan standing over you and the mutilated corpse of another man, bathed in blood, out of his mind. It was unclear to him who had been attacked first. When Scott tried to speak to Logan, he and the young woman you called Laura ran off into the wilderness. Scott assumed you were dead, until Jubilee discovered you were still breathing.”

                The cup spilled from Remy’s hand and clattered upon the floor, staining the rug. Hank reached to steady him. “Logan didn’t _do_ this! Logan didn’t hurt me!”

                “Calm yourself, Remy,”

                “Non! I want answers! None of what you are sayin’ makes any sense! Logan was trying to catch Laura, she ran away in de night! We went after her and ran into some trouble…” He felt dizzy again and Hank braced him in his big steady hands.

                "There's really no need for outbursts, Mr. LeBeau. I understand this is rather emotional for you, but what evidence has been laid out before me leaves some rather grim assumptions. I know you cared for Logan, but his feral nature can lead him to violent tendencies...” Xavier spoke with a surprisingly aloof tone not even bothering to note the distressed features of his guest. "Violence is in his animal nature, how ever much we want to pretend it's not. It's possible that in his berserk rage he simply turned on you."

“Non, non…dis is all wrong…Logan wouldn’t do this. He’s not that kind of man!” He gripped his head, trying to remember what happened. Little flashes, bright burst of pain and agony and terror blinked in his mind’s eyes. Claws raking down his flesh, someone roaring in his ears, something tearing inside of him.

The Cajun slumped against Hank, who pulled him out of the chair, lifting him easily. “That’s enough. ENOUGH.” He growled. He carried Remy out of the room, back down the hall to his bedroom. Charles followed him.

“Hank, I know you’re angry—“

“Angry doesn’t begin to cover my current state,” the physician snapped, easing the limp man down upon the bed. “How can you defend what she’s done? How can you believe what Scott says? Logan was as much your friend as he was mine, how can you believe him capable of this? What of Jubilee’s account?”

Xavier looked at him evenly. “I have never said that I blame Logan for what has happened. Nor have I expressed any pleasure or approval in the choices Jean has made. There are too many pieces of the puzzle missing to be sure of what happened. And we have yet to identify the corpse Logan mutilated.”

“Jubilee swears it was Creed.”

“Jubilee has suffered trauma herself. Her thoughts are jumbled, neither Jean nor I have been able to verify her story. Scott also insists that she was several yards away when the attacks took place, it is possible she mistook whatever third party attacked both Remy and Ranger Cable. And aside from all that, we both know the body of Victor Creed was buried just a few short days ago.”

“I cannot _believe_ what I am hearing,” Hank snarled. “ _You_ brought Logan here because you said you saw what a good man he could be. You saw his need for redemption, his need for stability, for peers like himself! You once said the same for me. Have you turned your back on that now, my old friend, just because things have turned grim?”

“I haven’t turned my back on anyone, Hank. But I also know what Logan is capable of in a feral state. He can kill, and _has_ killed. There’s more blood on his hands than most of the town put together. And I would be a fool if I forgot that.”

Doctor McCoy turned away, feeling a tightness in his chest and a lump in his throat. “Then you’re not the man I thought you were, Charles.”

The Mayor bowed his head and quietly excused himself from the room. Hank sunk down in the chair next to Remy’s bedside, head in his hand, feeling…heartbroken. He looked again to Remy, as the man seemed to be coming back to himself once more.

“I’m sorry for that,” Hank apologized. “Normally Charles is more sensitive in these situations. I do not know what has come over him.”

“Den you believe me?” the demon eyed man asked, sitting up again.

“I do, Mr. LeBeau. I consider Logan a close friend, and I knew his feelings for you. Feral side or not, he is not capable of such monstrous behavior as they claim. Not towards someone he professed to love.”

                Remy smiled at him gratefully and looked outside once more, “I have a proposal for you, Doc,” he said slowly. “What say you, Jubilee and I go investigate a few t’ings for ourselves? My head might be a fuzzy now, but I t’ink I can track dem.”

                The blue furred man looked surprised, even apprehensive. “Remy, I admire your resolve, but it has been over a week, and Scott and the others have been searching daily for signs of Logan and the young woman without any luck. What makes you so sure you could find them?”

                “Well, I have de distinct advantage of being raised in a swamp,” the other man replied with a glimmer of his old smile playing over his lips, “where t’ings hide themselves good and deep. Learned to look for t’ings others might not. Besides, Logan told me dat I was part of his ‘pack’ and the pack sticks together, defends each other. If he’s hidin’, he might be more willin’ to show himself ta me and Jubilee den ol’ Sheriff One Eye.”

                Hank smiled. “You have a very valid point. Still, I’m not sure you’re ready for travel.”

                “Get me outta dis place and I’ll show you how ready I am. I’m a LeBeau, and we ain’t nothin’ if not bullheaded and stubborn when it comes to matters of de heart.”

                The Doctor weighed his options, glancing from Remy to the place where Charles had disappeared. “Alright, Mr. LeBeau. I’ll agree to this venture, on the condition that you allow me to travel with you.”

                It was Remy’s turn to look surprised. “But of course, Hank! But are you sure de town will manage witout you?”

                “I have a skilled apprentice named Celia who will be more than up to the task for the time being.” He looked again to the empty doorway. “I think it best we depart tonight, after your caretaker has gone to sleep.”

                “I’m coming with you, of course.” A little voice said suddenly from behind the door, startling both men.

                “Jubilee! How long you been dere, chile’?” Remy gasped, unable to hide the smirk on his lips. The girl was growing on him more and more every day.

                “Long enough to know what you’re planning. And don’t you dare think you’re leaving me here with _them.”_ She said, folding her arms across her chest. Remy motioned her to him and took her hand in his, “It’s not my place to tell ya to go or stay, chere. But have to warn you dat it could be dangerous.”

                “I don’t care. Logan needs us, and Laura too. Part of the pack, right?”

                “Oui. Part of de pack.” He looked at Hank with a twinkle in his ruby eyes; “And it seems we just got a new honorary member.”

                              

**

 

                Remy spent the rest of the day lying in bed, pretending to rest while quietly biding his time. Around six that evening, the red haired woman brought a tray of food up to his room. Remy pretended to sleep as she moved to the little tea table and sat the tray down and glanced over the contents, which consisted of soup and bread and hot coffee.

                “I’m not a bad person, you know.” She said quietly to the man on the bed. Remy opened his eyes, giving up the charade, and sat up stiffly.

                “Never said you were, Madame.”

                She tapped her temple, “You forget; I can hear your thoughts.”

                Remy frowned at her, “Hmm, seems like cheatin’ ta me.”

                She sighed heavily and moved towards him, gathering her skirts as she sat at the foot of his bed. “When they brought you back to town, Mr. LeBeau, I was certain you were going to die. Your throat had been cut, and you had been…” she bit her lip and nervously clenched her fingers. Remy tried to read her expression, opening himself up to her emotions. There was a great deal of pity there, as well as confusion and muddled resentment. And something…darker. Much darker, just under the surface of her awareness.

                Jean seemed to sense his empathetic power and glared at him. Remy hissed, clutching his head as the woman’s voice pounded in his brain. _“Do not try to use your power on me, I’ll make you regret it.”_

The Cajun groaned in pain, clutching his skull. A moment later the woman was beside him, her hands closed over his, “I’m sorry! Remy, please, I’m sorry…you frightened me.”

                The pain was gone as suddenly as it had come and left him blinking in surprise. The woman looked at him remorsefully, “I’m so sorry. I am not used to empathetic powers. They are…overwhelming to me.”

                “Seems we in de same boat,” Remy chuckled ruefully. “Truce?”

                She nodded gratefully. “I know you must feel that what I did was a violation. That was never my intention. Your mind and body were so broken by the experience…” she looked away from him and he could tell she was struggling. “Perhaps someday you’ll forgive me.”

                “If you’re trying to make amends, madame, den do me one thing. You saw what happened to me. Tell me who did this.”

                Jean looked at him nervously. “I’m not sure I should. What I saw in your mind wasn’t clear, Remy. There was so much happening, everything so disjointed…I can hardly be sure of what I saw. If I’m wrong…”

                The demon eyed man looked at her pleadingly, searching her face. “It wasn’t Logan. I’ll never believe it was.”

                Jean opened her mouth to speak, only to turn suddenly and find that they were joined by Xavier, who was watching them with a cool, skeptical eye. “Jean, I thought we discussed this.”

                The woman rose hurriedly, staring at the other man. But her expression looked fearful, confused, even defiant. “We did, Professor. But I can see I should have listened to my feelings before on the matter. Remy has a right to know what happened to him, even if it is painful.”

                To their shock, the man pulled from his belt a pistol and aimed it squarely at Jean’s head. “I think you need to reconsider.”

                “Charles…what are you doing?”

                “Better put dat pistol down, M’sieur Le Mayor…before you do somet’ing you regret.” Remy warned. The blue eyed man turned his attentions to him and let out a little mocking laugh.

                “There you are, always running your mouth.” He turned the gun from Jean to Remy. “I should have put you down as a liability a long time ago.”

                Gambit’s eyes flashed and he grabbed Jean’s arm, yanking her down onto the bed as he suddenly flung something in the direction of the gunman. Xavier cried out as he was suddenly struck by a small explosion, which turned out to be an ordinary stub of candle which the mutant had charged with his kinetic energy.

                Stunned, the man cried out and fell back and Remy made to leap from the bed and charge him, knocking him to the floor. In the struggle Jean raced to help, watching the two men grapple for the gun on the ground.

                Xavier was strong, stronger than he should have been, and Remy was still weak from his injuries. Yet he fought as ferociously as a man who felt no pain and who knew only one person was coming out of the struggle alive. Jean seemed to be in shock as she watched, unable to believe her old friend and mentor could act so irrationally and violently.

                Remy bellowed as Xavier threw him towards the stairs, sending him flat on his back with a yelp before scrambling for the gun. Gambit grabbed for it at the last second, but the other man grabbed his wrist. The Mayor grabbed hold of the Cajun’s tender throat, squeezing as hard as he could. Gambit let out a strangled yell, but managed to break the man’s grip and thrust his palm up into his nose.

                Xavier cried out, blood spurting everywhere and fell back. As Gambit rasped for breath he stared, eyes wide, as the Mayor’s image shifted and shimmered, revealing a familiar blue skinned figure crouching in his place.

                “Raven!”

                Jean moved in behind the fallen woman, who grabbed up the fallen gun once more, and got her arms around her, trying to restrain her. Raven Darkholm turned on the woman, easily beating her back, knocking her against the second floor railing.

                “What’s going on!?” someone from downstairs cried.

                Remy turned, distracted by the sound, to see Sheriff Summers bursting his way into the house.

                _BANG!_

                Remy turned back to see Jean fall back against the railing, Raven standing in front of her, the pistol smoking. Gambit shouted something and leapt up, trying to catch the woman, but she was already falling. She flipped over the stair rail and crashed to the floor below .

                “JEAN!”

                Scott rushed her, falling beside her. But the woman was already dead, her eyes staring lifelessly up at Remy from the floor below. Gambit stared in horror before turning to find Raven had vanished as well leaving him standing with the smoking gun at his feet.

                Sheriff Summers looked up at him and Gambit felt a wave of grief and hatred hit him so fast and so fiercely that for a moment it rendered him completely immobile. Summers reached for his visor and with a scream of rage let off an optic blast, aimed right for Gambit’s head.

                He would have been killed instantly, were it not for the little body that collided with his and knocked him aside. “Run! Run!”

                Jubilee was pulling at him before he fully realized what was happening, but his instincts were luckily doing the work for him. The two darted back into the bed room, hearing Scott running up the stairs, and made for the window.

                They were on the second floor and it was at least a twelve foot drop. Gambit ushered Jubilee out onto the roof just as the door came down in a fiery blast of heat and light. Remy ducked out of sight just before another blast blew the window to pieces and caused both of them to go rolling down the porch roof.

                Jubilee would have tumbled right off and probably broken her neck, were it not for Gambit’s quick hands that caught her and swung her down into a hay bale that the foot of the porch before leaping down himself.

                He hit the ground with a moan, legs barely wanting to support him, and grabbed a lost horseshoe from the ground, charging it and flinging it back up to the window just as Scott appeared, watching as it exploded in a burst of light, blowing the siding and shingles off the side of the house.

                “What in God’s name--!” Beast’s voice was heard suddenly as they turned. He had just arrived with his horse and cart, which he had brought for a trip to the market to buy supplies.

                Remy grabbed up Jubilee and jumped up beside him. “GO!” he bellowed.

                “What?!”

                “JUST GO HANK!” Jubilee screamed as another optic blast nearly brought the roof of the house down beside him. The horses startled and took off at a panicked gallop, causing the three passengers to cling on to the cart for dear life.

                Helping Jubilee climb into the back of the cart where she would be safer, Remy moved in beside Hank’s big form in the coachmen’s seat and grabbed the reigns, not daring to glance behind him as they barreld through the town streets, watching as stunned pedestrians leapt to get out of their way.

                “Looks like our little adventure starts now, Doc!”

                “What the hell happened?!” Hank gasped, still utterly in shock as he looked behind him and saw Sheriff Summers emerge from the wreckage of the house, screaming and cursing and shooting at them. Jubilee screamed as a bullet struck a milk bucket next to her, sending the stuff spilling everywhere.

                “Has everyone gone mad!?!”

                They took a corner on two wheels and nearly toppled the cart, but soon they were rattling past the last outskirt buildings of Tull, following the hard pan road alongside the tracks. Remy looked nervously to his unwitting companion.

                “Doc, I got somet’ings to tell ya, and you ain’t gonna like dem one bit, but I gotta know somet’ing first—do you trust me?”

                Hank couldn’t help but think of the irony, considering their harrowing circumstances.

                “Now or never, Hank!”

                “Yes! Yes, Remy, I trust you!”

                “Good…cause yer Mayor ain’t your Mayor, and your Sheriff t’inks I just killed Ms. Grey.”

                “WHAT?!”

 

**


	17. Chapter 17

 

               

                Remy sat huddled in his coat, keeping watch over the landscape. Nearby, the horses grazed quietly in the field at the edge of the rocky tree-line. Some twenty miles off, he could see a little curl of smoke rising from a lonely homestead at the edge of another town. A train whistle blew softly in the distance, but Remy could see no sign of the black smoke stack.

                They were moving North East, having put about a hundred miles between them and the town of Tull in the last three days. There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers, and as of yet, no solid lead on Logan or Laura.

                Beside him, Jubilee stirred in her bedroll, whimpering beneath the wool blanket and shivering when the wind ruffled her hair. Remy reached down and smoothed his palm across it and shushed her. She was a tough little thing, Jubilee. It quickly become apparent that she had no idea what she was in for, traveling out in the wilderness this way, far from the comforts of home. But she didn’t complain, she didn’t fuss. She was as tough as anything, and her eyes were always watchful.

                He turned his head when he heard Doc McCoy approach from his left, having trekked down to the edge of the rocky hill to retrieve fresh water for the camp and scope out of the town. He was dressed now in a long heavy duster like Remy’s, but it was a darker shade of grey-brown and splattered with mud. He also had a hat that was pulled down low over his shaggy head, doing it’s best to obscure some of his features. Remy thought it was a rather unnatural look for the man, but envied his extra insolation of blue fur. The weather had turned bitter cold at night, and on days like today when the sun was absent beneath heavy rolling rain clouds.

                “Anyt’ing?” he asked as the man made his way towards him. Doc McCoy sat down a little bundle of supplies next to their camp and pulled off his hat, shaking his mane and looking out towards the distant train tracks. “He hasn’t come into town, but one of the furriers said they saw a strange man and girl roaming the edges of town about two nights ago. Could be them. They seemed to think they were Comanche, but noted that they didn’t have horses and were practically naked.”

                Remy mulled this over thoughtfully, scratching his stubbly chin. “That’s something. They could still be in the area, especially if they’re on foot.”

                “I agree,” McCoy replied, settling down on a stump near the dying fire and digging into the little parcel he had collected, handing Remy a thick piece of bread. The Cajun took it gratefully and tore into it. It was sweet and yeasty and the fresh-baked smell warmed him.

                “Anyt’ing else you learn while you dere?”

                Hank bit into his own bread and piece of jerky and produced a scrap of parchment from his coat pocket. “Oh yes. Have a look for yourself, I’m interested in your opinion on the artist rendering.”

                Remy unfolded the paper and sighed when he saw it was wanted poster, depicting not only Logan, but himself and Hank as well. The charges were murder and kidnapping, as well as horse thieving and suspected robbery.

                “Sheriff Summers sure didn’t waste any time,” he sighed, crumpling the paper and throwing it into the fire. “And that artist is terrible. And you look nothing like a gorilla.”

                Hank gave a little snort of laughter. “Thank you my friend.”

                Remy looked at him beneath the brim of his hat, “I’m sorry you were pulled into dis, Doc. But I don’t know how we would have—“

                “Please, Remy, there’s no need for apologizes,” McCoy answered sincerely, looking at the ruby eyed man over the frame of his spectacles. “I know what happened to Ms. Grey was not your doing.” He looked bitterly out into the wind. “But ever I worry about the fate of my friend, Charles. If that woman could so easily step into his place…”

                The Cajun reached out and put a hand on his large paw. “We’ll find him, Hank. I promise you.”

                The beastly man nodded slowly and went back to his food. Jubilee sat up then, shivering in the wind and pulling the woolen blankets tighter around herself, “Is there food? I’m so hungry…”

                Hank presented her with bread and jerky and moved to pull the fire iron from the embers, placing inside it some freshly cut bacon. Jubilee all but salivated at the sight, but busied herself with the bread.

                “Enjoy it, petite. May be some time before we hit another town. Will have to travel further from de roads, keep out of sight.”

                “Did anyone spot them?”

                “Two nights ago, but we’re not sure if it’s dem.” He stood up stiffly, cracking his back and stretching his arms above his head. Jubilee noted that he had taken to wearing a bright red scarf around his neck to hide the scar there. It matched the color of his eyes. “I’m going to go out and look among those pines there in the distance,” he pointed North towards another small line of trees at the edge of the small craggy mountain. The air was damp and biting cold, and the clouds rolling over it were heavy and looked almost as if they could produce snow.

                Hank looked troubled, “I think we should stay together.” He said.

                Remy looked back to him and then out towards the tracks and the homestead and the town beyond. “Non, I won’t be gone more den a few hours. I run into trouble, I send up a signal. And if anyone comes dis way, you know what to do.”

                “Indeed,” Hank replied somewhat darkly. His eyes briefly fell on the shot gun that was sitting next to his bedroll. “Be careful,” he added. “No doubt you’ll have more than Rangers and bounty hunters to worry about that way. We are on the edge of native territory.”

                Remy nodded, grabbing a few things from his own pack and replacing them into his saddle bag before climbing onto his horse, a dark red mare with a black mane. “I don’t return before nightfall, you know what to do.”

                “Come looking for you, of course.” Jubilee answered, staring up at him. “You don’t think for one damn minute that I’m about to lose you too, do you?”

                Remy smiled and blew her a kiss before taking up the reigns and giving his horse a little tap with his heels, disappearing down the hill with their eyes following him.

 

                Cold autumn rain drizzled overhead as the rolling clouds passed, leaving dark patches of shade along the waving grass with intermittent patches of pale sunlight, which strained through the clouds. Remy didn’t know what he was looking for precisely, and he had never been much a tracker, having hunted only a few times with his father and brother in his youth. But the swamps of the deep south were vastly different from the rolling hills and mountains beyond the desert hard pan. Remy watched the trees for movement and the ground for signs of a campsite or campfire.

                Logan’s words to him, which seemed long ago now, rumbled in Remy’s head. The feral beast inside him, how he could hunt, and live off the land, survive and even thrive in the elements as no mere man could. Would Logan even need a camp, or a fire? Perhaps not. He reminded himself that he would have to look for signs of a beast as well as man. Logan was surely both, as was Laura.

                He lead his horse from the open grass into trimming pines. They are thicker, greener, higher here than the ones they traveled on the outskirts of Tull. A sure sign that they are getting farther and farther from home. How strange that he has come to think of that place as such, when for two long years now he has belonged nowhere and attached himself to nothing.

                It’s all the more reason he needs to find Logan, find him and bring him back home, and learn the truth of what happened that awful day. His memory still hadn’t recovered from Jean’s interference, and though it troubled him at night, he wondered if it weren’t for the better. He absently touched the scar across his neck as he coaxed his horse up a hill to the top of a pass, overlooking the rest of the wood beyond.

                He saw a deer move somewhere in the underbrush. A doe and her baby. Remy watched them silently as they disappeared among the thickets and bows of the undergrowth. Nothing here looked particularly disturbed, though the thin worn path beneath them suggested that hunters passed this way often.

                As he paused, trying to determine which direction to continue, he realized that the woods had grown still around him. Too still. Not a bird chirped, nor rodent scurry for cover. Yet something moved, something breathed close by.

                Remy eased his fingers over the holster of his gun. It was conventional, but why give away the ace up his sleeve if he didn’t have to?

                “You there,” a voice called, and he turned, not too hurriedly towards the sound. A man dressed in heavy leathers and furs and carrying a hunting knife, appeared at the edge of the thicket to his right. He was heavily bearded and somewhat dirty, as if he had been out here for months. “State your business.”

                Remy smiled at the man, tipping his hat, “Bonjour, mon ami. Desole, I didn’t mean to encroach on your hunt.”

                The other hunter eased a little, blinking up at him. “Je parel francais?”

                “Oui,” Remy chuckled, swinging down to dismount. He moved towards the man, understanding now that he was one of the French Canadian furriers from the North, who must have been making his way back from a recent trade excursion. “You are a long way from home.”

                “Et tu,” the bearded man chuckled. “Where are you from?”

                “Afraid I hail from a bit further south then you might guess.” He replied and the man looked at him thoughtfully as he shook his hand.

                “You been traveling long?”

                “A few days,” Remy answered glancing about. The furrier nodded and sheathed his knife, “Well, I can’t say much for this place. Between the homesteaders and the Comanche there’s not much left to hunt around here. I’ll be heading North myself in a few days, back towards the lakes. If you’re in need of a companion, I could…”

                “Je regret, I am traveling wit some others, who are in town.”

                The man nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a shame. I could use some good conversation!” he chuckled and Remy did so in kind, though he had stepped a little further back from the man. There was something off about him, and it wasn’t just the smell of his unwashed clothes and skin.

                “Well, I’ll leave you to your business, mon frere. But a word of caution; there’s something unsettling in these woods lately. Not sure if it’s a Comanche or another hunter, but something has been clawing the trees.”

                Remy looked up in curiosity. “Clawing?”

                “Oui, strangest thing. Almost as if someone were marking a path. Come, I’ll show you.” He said, motioning for the man to follow. Remy took the reigns of his horse and lead her along after the man, walking a few feet behind, watching closely. He tried to sense the man’s emotions, but he could get little more than a general feeling of anxiousness. It wasn’t often he came across a human that could mask their empathetic aura so well, but he wasn’t ready to make any other assumptions.

                They traveled about half a mile down through the trees, feeling cold rain drip down from the canopy above . The ground with thick with needles and drying leaves, obscuring the little hunting trail. The bearded man stopped then, pointing just ahead.

                Remy was already moving past him, staring at the tree. It had been marred, with three long slash marks, each perfectly even. The Cajun ran his hand along the wounded bark as if he could sense the man who made it. “Strangest thing isn’t it? What kind of knife could make marks that are so perfect and even?”

                “It is strange,” Remy mumbled, though his thoughts were somewhere else.

“You sure you won’t reconsider taking the train with me, mon frere? There’s better hunting to be had up North.”

“Not for what I’m hunting for,” Gambit replied quietly.

“Ah, well…that’s a shame.” He heard the man move behind him and stiffened as he felt a knife come around his neck and an arm wrap around his torso, pulling him roughly back. “Didn’t want to have to take you the hard way, M’sieur. Especially considering your one of my own. But…a bounty’s a bounty. And there’s a juicy one on your head.”

Gambit chuckled softly and the man gripped him a little harder. “What’s so funny?”

“Why, _you_ , ‘mon ami’,” Remy smirked, “Because you have _no_ _idea_ what you’ve just stepped into.” He grabbed the man’s knife and charged it, bringing his elbow back harshly into the man’s stomach and then his throat, sending him staggering backwards with a cough as hurried to drop the knife which was burning his hand. As it exploded with a little bang on the ground, Remy whirled and kicked the man in the face twice before dropping to the ground and kicking his legs out from under him.

The furrier dropped to forest floor, wheezing and moaning, fumbling for a gun in his belt, but Gambit stomped upon his hand, hearing the man wail in pain as he ground the heel of his boot into the delicate bones.

“I’m afraid dis concludes our acquaintanceship, M’sieur. Too bad for you, really, it w _as_ nice to meet another Frenchmen.” He kicked him in the face one last time, knocking him cold and then turned back to the clawed tree. Looking further into the thicket, he spotted a few more that were like-wise marked and he felt his heart lift.

He turned to his horse and pulled a playing card from his coat pocket, a two of hearts, and fastened it to the saddle before turning and releasing the beast with instructions to return to camp, which he was sure she would. Animals trusted him easily, and followed his commands as easily as if he’d spent years training them. Just another of the Cajun’s many faceted talents.

He left the furrier where he was and continued the trail on foot, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of his lover of the young girl.

A few miles down the path, he began to notice that the marks were growing fewer and more spread out, deterring from the hunting path. Remy followed them regardless, having nothing else to go on. The sky had darkened and a cold wind whistled through the tree tops, making the world around him sing with the rustle of branches and leaves and causing his long duster to billow and whip around him. He shivered in the cold but kept his head up, watching, waiting, desperate for a sign.

He glanced back behind him then, looking for some sign of where he had been and realizing he was becoming steadily lost in the trees. There was no more sign of the fields beyond, and he could not even smell the smoke from the train, still he heard it’s lonely whistle, a faint din, over the gusting wind.

And then he felt it.

Someone was watching him from someplace yet unseen. There was fear, curiosity, predatory aggression jumbled with chaotic confusion. Remy stilled, listening, breathing slowly, knowing he was being circled.

He wasn’t sure what to do. If this was Logan watching him, then the feelings he was sensing were indeed troubling as they gave no indication of recognition. But, he reasoned, it could also be Laura whom he sensed. Or it may be someone else entirely.

The predator was still moving, moving in closer but cautiously. Surely they sensed that Remy was aware of them, why else would he be so still? He decided then to test his theory and quietly began to hum and then sing…

“ _Je vais t'attendre là. Viendras-tu pour moi? Je vais t'attendre là. Seulement toi…”_

The movement stopped. Remy exhaled, seeing his breath fog in front of him for a moment, turning towards the last place he had sensed the other person’s presence. There…crouched, just beneath the bow of dying pine was a man.

There was hardly a scrap of clothing on him, only a fury pelt that covered his gentiles, and his skin was dirty and deeply tan now, marked with what looked like red stains that were too bright to be blood. The dark hair was shaggy and hanging in his eyes, which were blue and bright.

“Logan…”

The man seemed to startle faintly at the sound of his own name, ducking a little further into the shadows. Remy reached out a hand as if to grasp at him, but stopped when Logan retreated further. “Logan? Please, don’t hide from me. Been lookin’ for you for so long…are you hurt?”

There only a came a sort of low warning growl from the shadows, and Remy could see his lover baring his teeth at him. He moved closer now and Logan made a sound that was something akin to wolf’s snarl or a wild cat’s hiss.

"Don’t you know me? It’s Remy!”

To his shock then, Logan emerged from the shelter of the pines, creeping along , his claws and teeth bared, eyes wide and almost frightened.

Remy backed away as the man advanced, seeming quite ready to attack him. He realized then that this is what the others had spoke about, and what Logan himself had tried to warn him of. The “animal” side of him, the feral man, more creature than human and with all the fears and instincts of something wild and free.

The feral growled at him, swiping his claws at him and forcing Remy to retreat another few steps, though he refused to run. “Mon couer…do you not know me?” he whispered. Logan watched his every movement, hesitating and defensive. His emotions were raw and wild, fear and confusion brought on by a stranger threatening his territory. But there was something else…something just below the surface of those primal feelings. Something like disbelief…

Gambit removed his hat and his coat slowly, letting the effects fall to the ground. Logan grunted at them, backing away slightly, claws still at the ready. He sniffed the air around the man, still snarling faintly. “See me better now, yes?” Remy asked softly, keeping his voice low and even so the other man would not perceive him a threat.

The other man circled him slowly, scenting him and Remy remained still and patient. After a few moments Logan crept up to him, standing directly in front of him, staring into his eyes. He leaned forward, still sniffing, like a dog. Remy felt his warm breath on his throat and sighed softly, wanting to reach out and hold him, but restraining himself.

Logan fell back then, still and watching, more confused than ever. “It’s me, cher,” the copper haired man spoke softly. “It’s Remy. Your mate. Remember? Please remember…”

Logan hesitated and then his lips moved and his voice came, cracked and broken as if from little use; “R…Remy?”

The Cajun only nodded, smiling.

The dark haired feral moved in closer, no longer crouching awkwardly but standing straight, studying his face. He reached up and touched Remy’s cheek and hair and ran his rough fingers along his neck. He hesitated when he reached the scarf, and his lover allowed him to pull the fabric away, revealing the scar beneath.

Logan’s eyes widened, but there was more recognition there now, and Gambit felt a change in his emotions; confusion and concern slowly giving away to relief. The feral’s hands grasped him at last, the claws receding into his skin, dragging the two of them together as he stared hungrily into the taller man’s face. “You’re alive…?”

Gambit leaned in and captured his lips with his, kissing him hard and desperately. Logan moaned in his mouth, fingers digging into the other man’s arms as he pressed himself closer. Remy smiled against his lips, feeling moisture at the corners of his eyes he was so filled with relief.

There was the crunch of dead leaves then and they both broke, looking up hurriedly. There was a whistling sound a knife went slicing through the air and found its home in Logan’s back. The feral roared in pain and pitched forward, Remy bracing him and reaching for his own weapon.

“Over here!” the battered furrier called somewhere behind him. “They’re over here!”

“Damn you!” Gambit snarled, firing off a shot that came within an inch of taking the bearded man’s ear off. He darted down the hill, reaching for his own shot gun which was strapped to his back. Remy fired again and managed to strike him in the thigh. He went down with a scream, holding the gushing wound.

Logan sunk to his knees, panting and snarling, and Remy held him still, pulling the blade from his body and tossing it aside. More were coming. He heard another crack of a gunshot and managed to narrowly avoid the bullet, before reaching into his pocket and producing a deck of cards, which he immediately ignited.

Spinning, he sent them whizzing through the air, each striking a tree and causing a wave of small explosions, which thundered through the landscape, knocking down branches and producing a smoke screen. Remy pulled Logan up, who already seemed to be recovering and started to pull him further into the trees, only to find themselves set upon by more men, who were carrying knives and Calvary swords.

“Don’t try ta run!” one shouted. “Give yerself up and you can keep your life, LeBeau! At least till ya get to the gallows!”

“You can try your luck, mes amis, but I don’t t’ink it’s in your favor!” Gambit spat back, hurling another charged card towards them before springing forward and attacking them directly, striking them down with his bare hands.

Logan quickly joined the fray, roaring and screaming, his claws finding home in flesh and blood, tearing the bounty hunters apart. With two men already dead at his feet, Logan honed in on the ones attacking his mate. He darted past Gambit, claws already dripping red, and skewered the uniformed man who advanced upon them with sword. Logan gutted him with three easy strikes and mauled his throat for good measure.

Beside him Gambit was stunned and frightened. He grabbed at the man, pulling him away; “Stop dis, you’re not--!”

The feral turned on him, his blue eyes almost black, mouth bloody, fangs bared. There was very little of Logan staring back at him, at the moment only the beast was present. He snarled in Remy’s face and knocked him to the ground, turning to advance on the other hunters who were foolish enough to get close.

He made to leap for a younger man, who looked scared out of his mind, but Remy shouted and jumped on him, wrapping his arms around Logan and pinning his arms to his sides, flinging him to the ground. The feral man below him roared and bellowed, trying to break free, and it was all the Cajun could do to hold him.

He looked desperately up at the youth in front of him, “Get out of here unless you want to die, boy! GO!”

The young man nodded and turned on heel and fled, Logan still straining after him. His lover continued to fight him, pushing him into the earth, determined to keep him from using his claws on anyone else.

“Non! NON! You are _not_ a murderer! Stop dis!”

Finally the man beneath him managed to throw him off, sending him rolling in the dirt and turned to pounce upon him, teeth bared. He slashed at Remy, marking him across the shoulder and chest. Gambit yelped as blood ran across his skin, but the wound was shallow. He bared his own teeth and glared up at Logan, punching him in the face.

The feral’s jaw cracked and growled low, but did not move off of him, seeming ready to tear into Remy’s throat. But instead of submitting, Remy struck him again and when Logan made to retaliate, the man grabbed his face with both hands and brought him in close. “DIS IS NOT YOU! YOU ARE _NOT AN ANIMAL!”_

He hit Logan with a full blast of his empathetic power, and the man yelped, suddenly overwhelmed by Remy’s own feelings of pain, confusion and determination. The shock of it rippled through him and he fell back, crouched and panting, hands to his head.

The redhead sat up slowly, wincing at the twinge in his shoulder and chest, watching his lover carefully. “Logan…”

The man whimpered, glancing at him nervously under the fringe of his matted and bloody hair. He wrapped his arms around himself as if suddenly cold. Remy reached for him, but Logan skittered away like a nervous dog. “Don’t…” he whispered in that same broken voice. “Don’t…I…I hurt you…”

“I don’t care,” Remy said firmly. He moved to kneel beside him, pulling him in close again, though Logan resisted. “What’s happened to you, cher? Dis is not you…”

“Yes…it is…” Logan answered gruffly. He looked at Remy mournfully, reaching to touch the bloody lines of his shirt. “This is what I am…what I always was…a beast…”

Remy caught his hand and held it in his, “Non, mon amour. You more den dat.” He reached around for his fallen coat and covered Logan’s naked body with it. “Let me take you home.”

The dark haired man hesitated, clearly torn between the man he was and the creature he had become. He seemed so lost, and so strangely afraid. Remy kept him close as he dared, kissing his skin softly and nuzzling him. “Where’s Laura?” he asked then softly.

Logan’s eyes moved past him, deeper into the wood. Remy nodded; “Show me.”

Together they stood, and he let Logan lead him onward, moving past the fallen bodies of their attackers. Both men watched the trees for any more signs of movement, and Logan would stop here and there, smelling the air. Remy thought back to Jubilee and Hank, and knew that they would be on their way. He hoped they would not fall to any trouble themselves if more like the furrier were lurking in the woods.

Finally Logan stopped a little ahead of him and turned, “Others. There are others in the woods.”

Remy blinked, “Do you recognized their scent?”

The feral man snorted, squinting into the biting wind that gusted around them. “Yes…” he said slowly. He looked back to Remy cautiously, and the demon eyed man offered him a smile to ease his fears. “They’re friends. They won’t…hurt you.” He couldn’t believe he had to explain that. “Logan, what happened to you? Why are you here, a hundred miles from where you should be? Why have you become…dis?”

The feral eyed him steadily. “You were dead.” He said finally, flatly.

Gambit stilled, for a moment not even breathing. “Dead?” He touched the wound upon his throat, fingers playing along the pink raised skin of the scar, feeling it’s ever present tingling numbness. “How?”

Now it was the feral’s turn to look surprised; “You don’t…remember?”

“Non,” Remy replied dryly. “Seems your friend Ms. Grey took it upon herself to save me from those memories. Please, we’ve come all this way. Tell me what happened to us.”

Logan averted his eyes, looking off somewhere through the trees. Remy felt frustration welling up inside him and replied; “If you did dis…if you hurt me…den I know it was an accident. I forgive you. Just please tell me what happened!”

 “Creed.” Was all he said.

Remy felt his blood go cold inside him. “Creed murdered you. And I murdered him. I had nothing left…I took Laura and ran. I don’t belong in that world, neither of us did, I was fooling myself. I’m not who you think I am, Remy. I never was.”

“You’re not making any sense!” LeBeau shouted. “You’re Logan Howlett! You run the Inn of Tull! You’re a good, kind, decent man, who was a father to Jubilee and a friend to everyone! You—“

“NO!” Logan roared back. “That man was a _lie_! You know _nothing_ about me! I was a Union Soldier, a _mercenary_ , killer for hire! I slaughtered people and I _enjoyed it_. I clawed and slashed my way through five states, making a name for myself among scared little grey coats just like you! They called me _The_ _Wolverine_! _That’s_ who I am!”

A heavy silence hung between them in the ringing air, only the sound of their breath and the rain to disturb them. Logan turned away, morose and wilted and yet still full of anger, “Go back Remy. Take Jubilee and start over somewhere…I can’t go back to that life. I’m only an animal.” He started to turn away, his bare feet crunching on the wet leaves, but Remy’s voice followed him.

“Coward.”

He turned and looked back at him.

“ _Coward._ ” Remy said again, fist clenched and shaking. He moved swiftly towards him and when he came close enough, he raised his hand and slapped Logan hard, enough to split his lip and make him spit blood. “I wish I _was_ dead, if dis is what I come back to. De Logan I knew would never run away from somet’ing like dis. He had honor, he had courage! He was more den a man, he was a god-damned hero! Not because he never got his hands dirty, not because he was civilized, but because he knew he w _asn’t_ and he rose above it! He didn’t give two shits what de rest of de world thought, he did what he knew to be right! _Dat_ man was de one I fell in love wit! _Dat_ man I would follow anywhere. But you…?”

He chuckled ruefully and the sound was cracked and broken and heartbreaking. “His friends are in trouble. People he cared for, people he loved. _Logan_ wouldn’t turn his back on dem, just so he could wallow in his own self-pity. He’d stand and he’d _fight_ tooth and claw! So what are you gonna do? Run wit your tail between your legs? Or _fight_!?”

Logan bared his teeth and cuffed him hard, knocking Remy aside. The man stumbled, but picked himself up, still staring the other man down. Then the feral moved in and clutched him close, breathing hard, angry tears in his eyes. “Dammit Cajun…you and that mouth of yours…”

Remy smiled, wiping the blood on Logan’s lip away with his thumb. “Dere you are, cher. I knew you were in dere still.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Hush. Just kiss me.”

Logan complied happily, arms around the other man fiercely. Remy had brought him back to himself, made him whole. His trials were far from over, and the beast was still ever present in his mind. But for the moment, the man stood victorious.

 

***


	18. Chapter 18

 

 

                Logan lead him back up along the trail, and together they stood and waited in the cold. By and by, there came the sound of horses hooves tromping upon the cold damp earth, and Remy saw the shadows of Hank and Jubilee among the trees.

                Beside him, Logan snorted, his breath rising in a white cloud in front of him, tense and watchful. Remy put a hand upon his shoulder and looked at him closely. “It’s only Dr. McCoy and Jubilee, cher. Not’ing to fear.” He assured.

                The girl spotted them first, calling out and swinging down from her horse before hitting the ground at a run. She was up the hill and standing in front of them in a few seconds, but her exuberance faded the moment she saw the state that Logan was in.

                “Logan?” she gasped.

                The dark haired man moved a little closer to her, seemingly very conscious of himself then. “Jubes…” he looked down at his dirty, bloody hands. “I…don’t know…what to say.”

                She looked him over, moving a little closer still, peering into his face. “Are you okay?” she asked tightly. He nodded.

                The girl in turn drew back her fist and hit him hard, turning his head with the force of the blow she struck him. Behind her Hank called out, but Remy only shook his head.

                “You _left_ me!” she cried, tears springing to her eyes. “You promised me you’d never do that! _Ever!_ What was so damn important!? You stupid old bastard! You’re all I got in the world and you just—you just--!”

                He pulled her in close, laying his head against hers as she sobbed into his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, darlin’…” he hushed her, voice full of regret.

                “I hate you…you stupid idiot…” she sniffled against his skin.

                “I love you,” he answered back, kissing her damp hair. He pulled back and looked between her and the others. “We can’t stay here, more people will come looking soon. Are you being followed?”

                “We’ve been careful to cover our tracks,” Hank replied, still not fully understanding what was happening. Logan nodded and turned, ushering back through the trees. They others followed him in silence, though they had many questions.

                Jubilee staid right at Logan’s heels, while Remy dropped back beside Hank. The Doctor looked at him worriedly, “I see the bodies…” he began.

                “We were ambushed. Bounty hunters, ex-Calvary men…they were after me, it seemed like. They must not have realized Logan was here. Or if they did, they didn’t realize who he was.”

                “I do not know if that is a blessing or a curse,” McCoy answered.

                “Neither do I.”

                They walked on for another two miles to where the trees finally gave way to a steep incline that lead down to the little running river beyond. Logan lead them to a clearing and then turned, holding out a hand to stop them.

                “Somet’ing wrong, cher?” Remy asked.

                Logan lifted his head and let out a low howl. The three of them watched then as the lonely sound echoed off the rocks and across the dry, brittle grass. From beyond the clearing, two wolves emerged from beneath a small overhang beneath a hill. One howled back, a short, high yipping cry and Logan answered with another of his own.

                Jubilee held her breath, realizing he was actually communicating with the animals and Remy moved in closer, wide-eyed and awestruck. Another figure emerged from beneath the hill; Laura. She, like Logan, was practically naked, standing among the wolves, crouched on all fours. When she spotted the man upon the hill, surrounded by the others, she stood straight for a moment, staring and then backed into the cave again.

                Logan started forward, “Follow me, don’t be afraid.” He cautioned them.

                The group of four stepped into the clearing as the wolves came to greet them, slowly cautiously. Logan dropped from his regular stance into a lope, allowing them to approach him first. The wild animals sniffed him, no doubt smelling blood and plethora of human stench upon him and they growled cautiously. Logan made another guttural noise in his throat and looked back at the new arrivals.

                “Let them scent you. Don’t make any sudden movements; they won’t attack.” He assured them. Jubilee trembled a little, and they sensed her fear, growling at her faintly, but Logan took her hand and pulled her down beside him, crouching with her there in the dirt. He nipped her ear, which made her gasp a little, “You’re my pup,” he explained. “Just letting them know that.”

                “Your ‘pup’?” she whispered with a laugh, shaking in spite of herself. He took her hands and held them flat upon the ground and the beasts moved in close, smelling her.

                “They won’t hurt you,” the man beside her promised. “Look ‘em in the eye, they’ve got to know you’re not weak. Your mine, they’ll understand.”

                She nodded and did as he instructed. Up close the animals were stunningly beautiful, thick silvery-grey and black coats and bright eyes , boring into hers with such curiosity and silence. One moved in closer to her and sniffed her neck and Jubilee forced herself to be as still as possible, not flinching, confident that Logan would protect her.

                The animals moved away, off to the other creatures. Both Remy and Beast seemed to understand what was needed of them instinctually, Gambit dropping to his knees beside Logan and allowing the curious creatures to circle him, calm and still and passive, but not submissive.

                The creatures came close, but didn’t seem to like the smell of blood on him, the bigger grey wolf baring it’s teeth faintly. Remy didn’t flinch however, and Logan turned towards the snarling creature and made a grunt and yip of his own, clapping a hand against Remy’s wounded chest.

                “Dis your pack?” Remy asked quietly.

                Logan nodded. The Cajun cautiously extended a hand to the smaller wolf, who seemed the most taken with him, while the other had moved off to inspect Hank. The animal sniffed his skin and nipped lightly at his fingers. “Dey’re beautiful.”

                He looked up then to see Laura cautiously approaching them, several small pups gathered at her feet and another pair of female wolves behind her. “Why did you bring them here?” the girl asked, her voice sounded hard, but her concern was greater than whatever anger she felt.

                Logan stood fully and looked to her, beckoning her forward. She went, though she was hesitant. “These people won’t hurt you, you know that. It’s our pack…our family.”

                “ _This_ is our pack,” the girl answered, looking to the wolves around them. “ _This_ is what we are. They won’t accept that. They’re not like us.”

                Jubilee glared at the girl, “He was my family before he was ever yours, how dare you--!”

                Remy pulled her back, “Steady, petite,” he cautioned, not wanting to stir up the wolves, who were sensitive their aggression.

                The rain started falling again, and the wolves moved to retreat into the cave below the overhang. Logan bade the rest of them to follow, ducking inside. Though the opening was somewhat narrow, the inside the cave was wide and open, filled with the smell of animal and rain and cold earth. But it was dry, and once the wolves were all inside, accompanied by the humans, it became warm.

                Beast lingered by the mouth of the cave, keeping watch for any more signs of hunters. He had left the horses to graze almost half a mile back, in hopes to not attract attention to this place. Logan looked to Laura, who still seemed angry at this intrusion upon their solitary life.

                “Take Grey Scar and White Foot; bring food, suitable for all.” He instructed. The girl hesitated, not sure if she trusted to leave Logan alone with the others. Her eyes lingered over Remy, as if unsure how he could even be there. Logan took her arm and pulled her close, looking her in the eye. “We are safe, Laura. Go.”

                Finally she nodded and moved off towards the mouth of the cave, one of the females and another of the smaller male wolves trailing behind her. Hank stood then, “I’ll go with them, if you would consent, my old friend.” He said, dropping his hat and shedding his coat, much to Remy and Jubilee’s surprise.

                Logan smiled up at the big blue man, “Of course, Hank. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

                “Much,” the other mutant replied, removing his spectacles and leaving them behind as well. He turned after Laura and the other wolves, who waited for him to approach and the disappeared around the edge of the overhang, moving towards the trees again.

                “That was strange,” Jubilee replied, her knees huddled up to her chest, back against the wall of the cave.

                “Not really,” Logan answered. “Hank’s no stranger to hunting the way we do. He did it for many years before he came to Tull.” Logan made himself comfortable on the floor in front of them, looking at the young girl, “I bet you didn’t know he was a medicine man for a tribe of Souix, did ya?”

                Jubilee blinked in surprise, “No, I didn’t know that.”

                Logan turned his eyes back to Gambit then, studying him silently as the remaining wolves moved about the cave, two of the pups gathering at his lap, pawing and nipping playfully, while another came to curl at Remy’s knee, sniffing eagerly, exciting by the new presence. The feral’s eyes settled on the exposed scar on the Cajun’s throat, and Remy touched it self-consciously. “How did you survive?” he asked at last.

                “You’ll have to ask someone else,” Remy answered. “I have no memory of what happened to me.” He fixed Logan with a harder gaze, “Why did you leave?”

                “I told you.”

                “You gave me an answer, but you didn’t explain. You ran away, Logan, you abandoned us, half of Tull believes you murdered Ranger Cable, some unnamed man, and tried to do the same for me.” He looked around at their surroundings. “And now all this…I have plenty of answers, I just don’t understand dem.”

                Logan stroked the pup’s pelts lovingly for a moment before pushing them off and sending them scattering back to their mother and brothers. Remy’s remained at his side, having busied itself with chewing lightly on his fingers and hand.

                “My name isn’t Logan.”

                Both Remy and Jubilee stared at him. “What?”

                “It’s James. My name is James Howlett. I was born in Canada, and I came to the states when I was about seventeen; I worked for a mining company in Virginia for a time. I was…a very different person then. A person I don’t even recognize. When the war came, I became a solider right away. I was part of the 67th infantry , along with a man known better to you as Victor Creed. We were friends…lovers, for a short time.”

                The wolf nipped Remy hard enough to leave a mark and he picked the little thing up by it’s scruff and placed it next to Jubilee, who looked more and more lost by the second. The babe climbed into her lap, distracting her, as Gambit fixed Logan with a probing stare. “You… _and that monster_ …”

                “We were alike,” Logan cut him off sharply, blue eyes dark and burning. “Creed and I. We were both misfists…outcasts…animals. Creed had been making his world alone since he was a boy, and I…hadn’t come from much better. We were both stupid young men, eager to prove ourselves. We hunted together, we fought together, and yes, we fucked together too. It was brutish and mindless and at the time, it was exactly what I wanted. But the war went on and on…there was so much death. Needless death, senseless violence on all sides. Creed seemed to grow stronger from it, relish it, shedding blood at the slightest provocation. He became someone else; he became the monster he is now; the beast with no conscience and no reason, just an endless thirst for blood and destruction. He was so filled with hate. I couldn’t bring him back from that dark place, and I was…afraid I would be lost to it too.

                ‘I met a woman in ’64, when we were on the border of Missouri. Her name was…Rose. She was a nurse, and I grew fond of her. I loved her, actually. She loved me, but in the way that a sister loves a brother. She brought me back from that dark place I’d been living in; not caring about anyone but myself and always ready to die. She helped me learn to be more.

                ‘Then, that winter, we were ambushed. I killed them all; every single man standing. And when the smoke cleared, I realized that they were barely boys, who had been lead into a trap. A trap that Creed had set. While I was murdering them, he had gone to Rose and done as much for her. He did it all, he said, to prove to me that I was no better than him; a blood thirsty killer at heart.”

                Logan looked to Jubilee, who seemed to be crying. He reached for her and she shrugged away from him, “You big liar…why didn’t you ever…?”

                “I’m sorry, darlin’. I kept it hidden, even from myself. I couldn’t live with what I done, what I’d lost. And Ms. Grey and Xavier…they made sure I wouldn’t have to.”

                She glared at him, “So that’s it? You just…became someone else? Took another name and decided that was it?”

                Logan hung his head, “I never claimed to be a good man, girl. Told ya that much before. You came to me when I was nothin’ but a drunk; it was your choice to stay.”

                She slapped him and turned away crying moved towards the mouth of the cave, where she huddled in upon herself, head down, staring out at the rain. Logan wanted to go to her, but Remy pulled him back. “Let her have her tears,” he insisted softly, drawing Logan back further into the darkness. The demon eyed man looked at his lover intently, “What happened den, cher? How’d you come to Tull?”

                Logan seemed tired, as if the admission of all this was draining him. His wolves seemed to sense this, another grey coated one with a heavy red streak down it’s back gathering close and nuzzling him for comfort. This was the alpha male, Remy somehow understood, the leader of the pack. Logan was nothing more than one of his son’s, his hunters. A strange, two-legged wolf, who had brought a pup with him into their fold.

                “I deserted the Union. I became a wild thing, thinking then that I wasn’t fit to be one. Creed was right; I wouldn’t ever be like the rest of those people. That wasn’t my world; I was a beast with claws, who couldn’t be trusted with the lives of others. I lived alone and traveled for a long time, until I came here to the territories. Tull was not much more than whore house, a bank building and a couple of shanties back then. The railroad had come to it, and along with that came people like Jean and Charles. They were determined to start a town there, a town for people like them; gifted people— _mutants_.

                ‘I watched them build it from the ground up. And one night, the woman spotted me, watching them from the edge of trees. She looked so much like Rose.”

                He paused again, seeming to collect himself. “I wasn’t…in my right head then. I was confused about a lot of things, and I had forgotten or buried others. Jean took pity on me, tried to befriend me. But it wasn’t until there was a raid by a local tribe of Comanche that they saw what I could do. They saw my claws; they saw that I was like them. Xavier decided to take me in then, make me part of the community. Jean…”

                “She took your memories away.” Remy said then, making Logan look up in surprise. “She erased who you were, so you could become Logan. How did you…?”

                “I chose the name. It belonged to a friend of mine, many years ago. But I had forgotten even that. I was broken, Remy. There was nothing of that life I wanted, so I let her take it. I’m not sorry she did. I only wish it had stayed that way.”

                Gambit nodded in understanding, trying to take it all in. He realized now why Creed had taken so many reckless chances in Tull, why he had attacked Logan that first night in the street, and why he had become so vicious the moment he realized Remy was interested in him. This blood feud had existed long before he was ever thought of, and sadly, he had been the one reopen the wound.

                Logan was looking back at Jubilee, tired, resigned. “Creed brought it all back. When I found you lying there…when I saw what he had done to ya…it all came crashin’ down. And I ran. You called me a coward, and you’re right. I am. I always was.”

                Remy wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. “Listen, and listen good, cause I ain’t gonna say it but once. Don’t care about your past, whether you call yourself Logan or James, whether you a man, or a wolf. I love you, and I’m gonna stay beside you. Come what may. Understand me, cher?”

                “Remy, I can’t ask you…”

                “You ain’t asking. I’m tellin’. I go where you go. Why else would I be here?” He kissed him and felt dampness on Logan’s face as he did so, hearing the other man whimper against his lips. Remy pulled him in again and let him bury his nose against his neck, running his fingers through the thick tangle of his black hair in a gesture of comfort. The wolves watched them with gleaming, observing eyes and Remy sensed their uneasiness with them had passed. They had accepted Logan and Laura, they would accept them as well, even if it meant more mouths to feed.

                “It’s getting colder,” Jubilee mumbled.

                Logan stood and went to her side, scooping up Hank’s discarded coat and wrapping it around her shoulders, kissing her forehead lovingly. “I’ll start a fire. You two will need more shelter than just the cave tonight. I’ll get on it.”

                “I’m still mad at you,” Jubilee mumbled to him.

                “I know,” he answered.

                He moved past her out into the clearing again, darting off at a jog to find fire wood. He stopped briefly at the crest of the hill and waved back to them, and they saw Hank and Laura and the other wolves returning, a dead deer slung over Hank’s big shoulders, and pair of rabbit’s dangling from Laura’s hands.

 

**

 

                The rest of the day passed in contemplative quiet among the group. To Remy’s amazement, their motely little clan came together seamlessly. Logan busied himself creating a sort of lean-to to put against the cave entrance, hoping to keep out some of the wind and rain. He had created a fire in the clearing as well, which the wolves kept well clear of. The Alpha, whom Logan referred to as Red Streak, watched all this with an eagle eye, and Logan would occasional growl low at him, as if assuring him.

                Dr. McCoy was perhaps the strangest of all, leaving the deer for the wolves to eat while he skinned and cleaned the rabbits Laura had captured and prepared them on a spit over the fire, all as if it were second nature to him. The wolves themselves lost their fear of him quickly, coming to stand and sniff about the meat he prepared, and he offered them whatever scraps he had, paying special attention to the young pups.

                Jubilee, who had kept her distance for much of the day, shivering in the cold, finally lifted herself and went to Logan’s side, and helped him tie off bundles of long dry grass to make sleeping mats. Neither of them spoke, but a small smile had returned to the feral man’s lips.

                Remy kept vigil with one of the other hunters, until he spotted Laura moving up the hill towards him. “You should let the horses go. They will only draw attention.”

                Gambit considered this for a moment and then nodded, “Alright. I’ll tend to it.” He started down the other side of the hill, back to where he had left them, and she followed him, the wolves lingering behind.

                He accepted her presence, saying little to her as they walked. He fought the urge to give her his coat, as she seemed completely at ease with her near nakedness, practically oblivious to the cold, though he saw goose bumps on her flesh. “I wish you had not come.” She said.

                Remy glanced at her as they moved through the forest, soggy leaves sticking to their feet. “Why is dat, petite?”

                “You’ll take him from me. You’ll take him back to that town and he will forget about everything. He will forget about me.”

                At this Remy reached out and caught her arm. Her claws appeared but he was not threatened by this, “Laura, I would no sooner take him from you den I would take one of those pups from its mother. Where Logan decides to go, I’m sure you will follow.” He sighed heavily, creating another cloud of breath. “Besides, it seems unlikely we’ll be returnin’ to Tull. Bad t’ings have happened, and I’m afraid it not a safe place for us now.”

                The girl pondered this for a moment, “I am…glad you’re alive.” She said at length. “I was saddened when I thought you were dead. Logan mourned you greatly. It broke him, in a way I’ve never seen a man broken.”

                Remy remembered then that Laura had been present upon the hill that day. “Did you see Creed attack us?” he asked.

                The feral girl shook her head, “No. I did not become aware of Creed until he and Logan were engaged in battle over your body. The Sherriff appeared then and seemed to blame Logan for all the carnage, so I stunned him and then we ran.”

                “You got Logan away from the Sheriff?”

                She nodded, half expecting him to strike her. Instead he hugged her, much to her surprise. “Thank you, petite. You probably saved his life.”

                “I…you’re welcome.” She mumbled. He pulled back and pushed back her long black hair from her face, smiling at her before moving on down the trail once more. They walked a little closer now, and some of her worry fell from her shoulders, now that she no longer perceived Gambit’s affections for Logan as threat.

                The horses were exactly where they had left them, and Remy made quick work of relieving them of their saddle bags and supplies before removing their bridles and sending them off running back the way they had come with a quick slap on the haunch.

                He watched them leave, knowing that with them went any chance of a speedy escape should they need it. Surely someone would come looking for the bodies of the fallen bounty hunters, and the bounty on his head would only rise higher, and the stakes along with them. They were not safe here, not in the long run. They would have to keep moving.

                Out of the corner of his eye he saw Laura observing his neck, “You bare his scar,” she said thoughtfully, reaching up to touch the long line. “It’s a wonder you survived.”

                “So I’m told.”

                He looked hard out along the trees, and heard the low cry of the train pulling into the station, seeing the smoke stack above. He didn’t know why, but he sensed that the train brought with it ill news for their lot.

                “Laura, does anyone know you are out here? Anyone spotted you?”

                “We have been seen, once or twice, but never tracked. The men of the town know that there are wolves in these hills and don’t come this far in. There are other dangers as well.”

                “Such as?”

                Laura looked to the East, “I have sensed someone watching us, someone who does not smell like the other towns people. But whenever I try to investigate, the smell vanishes with the wind.” Gambit considered this information with a nod and lifted his head, smelling the air. It was colder now, and brought with it the smell of snow.

                “We’d better get back. It’ll be dark soon.”

***


	19. Chapter 19

 

***

 

                One by one the days began to shorten and darken. The sun was still blazing above them, but the air was biting and fierce. Nights brought bitter cold and frost upon the hard ground. Sheriff Summers, gaunter than before, rode into town that afternoon, his deputy Peitor beside him. The rest of his posse was trailing a few miles behind. They had just finished a long excursion south, but their search had remained fruitless. There was no sign of Remy LeBeau, or his hostages, nor of Logan and the feral girl Laura. All his leads had turned to dead ends, his informants useless.

                But Scott didn’t tire. Jean Grey was dead, Charles Xavier presumed so. The town of Tull left in outrage with no culprits apprehended. It had been almost four weeks since he’d last seen the town, going on five. It was in the hands of lesser men now, but that couldn’t be helped. Scott wouldn’t return until he had answers, and perhaps more than one man for the gallows.

                The weary Sheriff dismounted from his horse and made his way into the local tavern, which was small, noisy and dirty. He was greeted warmly by the bar tender, a bearded man with toothy smile, even if most of his teeth were black and rotted. “Welcome sir, welcome! Rest your weary bones and—“

                “My name is Sheriff Summers,” the man said firmly, voice rough from a long ride in the cold and the rain. He glared at the man through the red lenses of his goggles. “I need whatever information you can provide me on these men.”

                He reached into the pocket of his overcoat and unrolled two wanted posters, depicting Remy and Logan. The bar tender looked at the drawings curiously, scratching his chin. “Can’t say as I’ve seen either of these fellas. How ‘bout it boys, any of ya’ll sense these here desperados?” he called.

                A few heads down the bar turned, and two men who were playing cards at another table lifted themselves and came over to take a look. They seemed just as curious about the strange Sheriff as they did about the men he was after.

                “Ain’t seen either of these fellas, but this one,” one of the men said, pulling Remy’s poster aside and looking at the two smaller pictures underneath which depicted Jubilee and Dr. McCoy, (though most people mistook McCoy’s picture as a lion or some kind of freak show joke) and pointed to the girl. “This one looks a little like that runt that comes in every few days from the hills. Scrawny, dirty little thing. Never talks to a soul, never has any money either, just things to trade.”

                Scott looked at the man closely. “Has she been recently?”

                “Not for a few days, but she’s due back I would imagine, before the weather turns more sour.”

                “Do you know where she goes when she leaves the town? Can you lead me there?”

                “Sure, mister, but fair warning, once we hit those trees up there, you’re on your own. Something’s wrong in those woods, a bunch of men were found dead there a few weeks ago, slaughtered by something that weren’t animal nor injun. We stay clear of it now.”

                Scott smirked, “That’s more than fair, son. You lead the way, and leave the rest to me. Don’t suppose I could enlist a few of you other gentlemen to lay a little trap here for the young lady if she comes to town? Don’t want her hurt mind you, just trying to bring her back home.”

                “Sure, Sheriff, we’ll help ya. If you’re willing to—“ Scott pulled out a wad of bills from another inner pocket of his coat and tossed them on the bar before the gathered men. “Help me with this, gentlemen and it’s all yours.”

 

**

 

                Logan slept later than usual that day. He’d been out hunting all the night before and long into the morning, and when he finally returned home, he had fallen into bed and refused to move. The mat below him was soft and warm and still smelled like Remy. A warm, furry body was lying on top of his, also asleep judging by the heavy warmth he felt coming from the small but powerful body.

                He rolled out from under the heat source, earning a small disappointed whimper from White Foot, one of the younger wolves, as he did so and looked around. No longer did he sleep in the cave with the rest of the pack. With the help of Remy and Hank, they had managed to construct a dug-out cabin in the hill, not more than a few yards from the cave’s entrance. It had taken them four days and nights to do, but they had been living rather comfortably since.

                Somewhere between nature and civilization, Logan had found balance again. The pack remained close to him, though they were initially wary of all these strange man-made constructs, Red Streak, the alpha male, most of all. But Logan had taken great care to make sure these changes would not affect the pack’s regular activities, and would not encroach on them, all while providing extra security for them.

                Some might have thought this harmony of man and beast was an attempt to domesticate the animals, but they were still as wild as ever, still as dangerous to strangers. And the two legged members of their family knew that well.

                The feral man crossed the warm dirt floor and found his clothes hanging on the hook across from the large fire place, which was still smoking and crackling faintly, a dented cast iron cooking pot simmering over the coals. It smelled like herbs and rabbit and potatoes, and made the whole interior of the house smell warm and inviting. He pulled on a ragged shirt and pair of trousers made from deer skin, and finally a coat made of the same, lined with fur.

                In her own bed across the room, which was dug into the earthen wall, Laura was sleeping too, all three of the pups curled around their “sister”, dozing. He turned from her and made his way towards the door, opening it to cold biting air and the crunch of leaves beneath his feet.

                “Rems? Hank?”

                The later was busy, sitting upon a flat rock near the remains of a small fire, a wooden box of what looked like various garden scrap in front of him. “The mighty hunter emerges from his slumber, ready for another long night of the watch,” Hank replied melodically without looking up, squinting at some crashed leaves through his bifocal glasses. “I trust you slept well?”

                Logan grunted, taking a big breath of cold air and gazing out at the forest beyond. Their seclusion, he knew, was becoming more and more temporary. As the leaves fell, the forest became more and more exposed, and though he could not see any sign of the town from here thanks to the rolling hills, smoke from their fires would become more and more noticeable.

                “What you got there?” the feral man asked, sitting down on another rock in the circle around the fire, picking a blade of wheat grass from Hank’s box and sticking it in his mouth, chewing on the end. Hank gave him an annoyed glance, but went on. “I’m making a note of all the local foliage for my journals. It’s important to know what herbs one has on hand, medicinal and otherwise. Especially anything that can be harmful to the body.”

                Logan nodded thoughtfully, looking out at the grey afternoon. “Ya know, you can always go back. Sheriff knows you did no wrong, and that you left under whatever supposed duress he can think up. I’m sure Charles will be waiting for ya with open arms. You are his oldest and dearest friend.”

                “None of that is true,” Hank answered simply. “Guilt or no, Scott will demand I reveal your whereabouts, and when I refuse, I shall be imprisoned. Charles is always on my mind, but I haven’t the slightest idea of what has become of him…and he has older and dearer friends than I.”

                “But you love him, Hank. Don’t you wanna know what happened to him?”

                “Of course I do.”

                “Then go back.”

                The blue furred man sighed and put down his work, looking at Logan firmly. “Your simplistic nature, my friend, is at times… _vexing_. As previously stated, going back means my incarceration. Unless, of course, both you and Remy plan to accompany me get this whole debacle cleared up?”

                Logan looked away, staring off into the woods.

                “Hmm. I thought as much.” Hank grunted, picking up his leaves again. “So we remain at a stand-still.”

                A moment of silence passed between the two of them, and Logan glared into the dead fire. “I can’t go back. I won’t. I’m not that man anymore.”

                “You had a life there, Logan. A life you built with your own two hands, _forget_ what Jean had to do with it. You had friends, community, _family_.”

                “That life was a lie.”

                “And you prefer this?” Beast gestured. “Hiding?”

                Logan’s eyes darkened slightly, “I ain’t hidin’ from nobody. If they want me, they can come and get me. And heaven help them when they do.” He felt his claws emerge, admiring their shine in the grey light.

                Remy appeared then from over the hill, Jubilee trailing behind them. The two had just returned from the creak with fresh water in heavy buckets. The red haired man waved to them as they started down the hill towards the cabin and Logan waved in return.

                “Are you sure exile is how you want to live out your days with Remy and the girls? All of them, Logan, deserve a place to put down roots. Can they do that here?” Beast asked.

                “They have not complained.”

                “Because they love you. They are just grateful to have you near. But you have to do better than that, for _them._ ” Hank tucked his herbs back into the box and stood, clapping his hand down the feral man’s shoulder and giving a little squeeze, “You will make the right decision in the end, my friend. I have great confidence in that.”

                He turned and headed around the other hill, beyond the dugout, to the little path that lead further up into the hills. Jubilee let her bucket drop to the ground, sloshing it slightly and moaned. “I swear it gets heavier every time we go!” she panted, rubbing her sore shoulders.

                Remy came behind her and ruffled her hair, which was getting longer and wilder by the day. “You will get stronger, petite. A week ago you could only carry one bucket at time, now you carry two! A hot bath will make you feel like new.”

                Jubilee smiled at the idea and shivered in the wind. “Yeah, I just wish we had a real bath tub, instead of just that leaky old tub!”

                “Well, if you can always bathe in the creak!” Remy called cheerfully as he sat down his own load and bent to kiss Logan’s lips. “Rest well, cher?”

                Logan nodded, but didn’t say anything, Hank’s words still in his head. Jubilee scurried inside, two of the other young wolves, Greyback and Blackpaw scurrying behind her, no doubt in hopes of getting some scraps from the pot of food inside. Blackpaw was pregnant again with a new litter and was always hungry.

                Remy looked off towards the path where he had seen Hank disappear to, and scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. He continued to wear his long leather duster, but his old clothes were now replaced with leathers and furs like Logan, helping to insulate him against the harsh weather. “Hank’s gone off again, oui?”

                Logan nodded.

                His lover looked at him thoughtfully, “He’s been strange lately. I t’ink all dis waitin’ around is getting’ to him. He’s even snappin’ at de girls.” He scratched his stubbly chin, “And judging from de sour puss on your face, he just got done layin’ into you as well.”

                “He has a right,” Logan muttered. “He never shoulda been dragged into this mess. I owe him.”

                “We all do. Without Hank, I don’t know how we ever woulda got dis far.” He sat down beside Logan, taking up the flint and some kindling, ready to start a fire as the clouds above them darkened and thickened, blotting out all signs of sun. “He still won’t go?”

                “Says he can’t go back to Tull without us.”

                Remy said nothing, but Logan read his body language like an open book. “You agree with him.”

                The demon eyed man glanced back at his lover, “Didn’t say nothing.”

                Logan snarled in frustration and stood up, making a little growling yip which summoned the remaining wolves to him and started off towards the creak.

                “Where are you going?”

                “Hunting.”

                Remy rolled his eyes, “You mean avoiding de subject. Maybe you’ll find a better one while you’re out there, oui?” he called in frustration and Logan ran off. The Cajun cursed and tossed the flint to the ground, scratching his hair and sighing. “God damn if I ain’t but fallen for de stubbornest man on earth!”

                He rose then, the fire forgotten and stepped inside the dugout. Laura was awake, sitting on the floor with Jubilee, playing with the pups next to the fire, while Blackpaw busied herself with scraps from last night’s kill.

                Laura noted the look on the other man’s face and raised an eyebrow, “Logan left again?”

                He nodded, “Hank as well. I’m going after Hank, make sure he don’t get caught in de storm dat’s rollin’ in. You two stay put, and don’t---“

                “Please, Rems,” Jubilee scoffed, “We aren’t a couple of infants. We can take care of ourselves if someone comes snooping.”

                He nodded and turned back out the door, motioning for her to latch it with the reinforced board behind him. He refused to leave entirely until he heard the board fall into place and Jubilee mutter something crude through the door. Then he took off up the path after McCoy.

                The Cajun’s old leather boots had been replaced with deer skin ones, lined with fur, which kept his footsteps all but silent, even across the dead and drying leaves. Logan had remarked that he would have put even the stealthiest Comanche hunters to shame with his silent grace and speed.

                The hills above the cave and the dug out where rocky and high and the trees there had shallow roots. Many of them had uprooted and fallen over the last few weeks in some of the high winds. Remy weaved in and out among the rocks and roots, following the all but invisible trail Hank had left behind him. The burly bestial man could not help but leave some signs of his passing, breaking and bending young branches here and there, upturning little pebbles and crushing leaves into confetti under his heavy paws.

                After a time he came to a wide ridge of land that ended in a high cliff above the running creak below. The trees thinned and gave way to long waving grasses that were steadily yellowing. Gambit stopped there at the edge of the trees staring out across the expanse and two figures who dotted the otherwise lonely landscape.

                Hank stood there, his back to Remy, speaking to a new figure. The woman, dark skinned and white-haired, was nearly as tall as the beast like man, her figure powerful and beautiful in bright colored beads and leathers.

                “…I’m sorry…” he heard Hank say across the distance. “…we cannot leave. Not yet. I need more time to convince them.”

                “You promised me, Henry,” the woman replied, her voice was commanding and but subtle, like a faint roll of thunder. “You know what will happen if they stay. They are encroaching on my people’s hunting grounds. My chief will not stand for it much longer, he has already lost much to the settlers in the valley below and their locomotive.”

                “Ororo, please,” Hank took her hand in his. “We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we?”

                “Yes.”

                “And I have always done my best to help you, haven’t I? You remember when you first arrived on the train those many years ago? You were barely more than a girl then, completely alone.”

                “I do not need you to remind me where I have been, Doctor. You may be my friend, but everything I have accomplished I have done so on my own. I owe you nothing. I have stalled for you only because of I value our friendship. Please, do not test it.”

                She pulled away from the large blue furred man, turning to glare off towards the edge of the cliff, her hair waving in the wind. Remy was both fascinated and perplexed by her; she was clearly not of the native tribes that surrounded the area, and she spoke much like the women who had worked in his father’s household many years ago, though she had none of the southern dialect. It was not uncommon for freed slaves to come out west and join various tribes of natives. But even if that was the case, the woman seemed different. Special, somehow.

                “Ororo, _Storm_ , please…I need more time. These people will not harm yours and they will not interfere with your clan’s hunting. We take only what we need.”

                The woman reached into a sort of pouch which dangled from her hip and forced something into Hank’s paw. “Traders brought these into our camp two night ago. They were asking for information, for help. Your friends are hunted men, they will bring destruction upon us if they do not leave.”

                Her eyes suddenly darted towards him then and Remy held his breath and was still, though he knew already that he had been spotted. The wind picked up then in a fierce gale and he bowed against it, feeling leaves and other debris slap him in the face. As he tried to shield himself, he felt the wind circling around him, until to his complete amazement, it physically lifted him off the ground and sent him spiraling through the air for a moment before dropping him harshly upon the earth again.

                He lay there in the flattened grass, winded and startled, only to have the woman fall on him like a wild cat, her hunting knife at his throat. “Whoa, whoa! Easy dere, Stormy!”

                She hesitated, one white eyebrow raised in confusion and then slapped him. “Do not call me that!” she snapped, seemingly rather flustered. She glared angrily back at Hank, who was standing nervously beside him. “You brought spies with you!?”

                “No!” McCoy cried in exasperation, glaring down at Gambit, who grinned sheepishly in return. “I had no idea I was being followed. But please, don’t hurt him. He’s harmless.”

                The woman glared back at down at him appraisingly, “I do not like the look of him. He has a sly look, like a fox.”

                Remy grinned in spite of himself, “I assure you, Madame, I mean no trouble. I was only following our mutual friend to make sure dat no harm would come to him. I apologize for intruding on your meeting.”

                She sat back and sheathed her knife, climbing off of him and brushing herself off. “A Frenchmen…even worse.”

                Gambit climbed to his feet, only to find Hank in his face, looking very perturbed. “What do you mean by following me?”

                “I t’ink I just explained dat. You have been sneaking off a lot lately, mon ami. Now I know why.” He looked at the woman called Ororo and smiled. “You could have just told us. Logan’s stubborn but he’s not an idiot.”

                This made the dark skinned woman glare at Hank instead. “You did not tell them about us?!”

                Hank rubbed his shaggy blue head, “I was trying to find the right time to give them the details, Storm. It is a sensitive matter and I had feared Logan would not move under orders. There is much more going on here than you guess.”

                “So I begin to see.” She replied, looking again to Gambit.

                “Dat was some trick you just did, creating dat wind. Dat _was_ you, wasn’t it?”

                “Ororo is a mutant, like us.” Hank answered. “Her powers seem to be weather related, creating storms and lightening at a wave of her fingertips.”

                “Exotic.” Remy replied. He gave a little bow, “I am Remy LeBeau, of N’Awlins. A pleasure to make your acquaintance M’selle Ororo.”

                She looked unimpressed, yet he detected a little smile tucked in the corner of her lips. “A Frenchmen _and_ a confederate. You make strange bedfellows, Doctor.”

                “Ain’t any confederacy left, mon ami, and dat fight was never mine to begin wit. Left my southern roots long ago, probably never to return.”

                She turned away, long white hair, which crested in the middle of her otherwise bald head and ran all the way down into a flowing ribbon at the nape of her neck, waving behind her. “My chief’s decision stands, Doctor. You will take your friends and leave our land before the next hunt at the full moon, or there will be blood.”

                “Ororo, we have children with us. You can not let this happen!”

                “My hands are tied! What power do you think I have!”

                “You are the Chief’s _wife_ for God’s sake!”

                Remy watched the heated debate in silence, until he heard a strange stirring from the trees that didn’t seem to come from the wind. “Shh! Quiet!” he hissed at them.

                The quarreling pair stilled, blinking after him. Both immediately went on the defensive, though they did not see anything in the shadow of the trees. “We’re being watched.” The Cajun whispered. “Can sense deir nervousness.”

                “It is not my hunters,” Storm replied.

                “Then it is ours,” Hank growled. He stepped forward through the waving grass. “Come on out, you bunch of cowards! Be men and show yourselves!”

                Remy put his hand on his arm, “Hank, don’t—“

                There was movement among the trees and six men stepped forward out of the shadows. Among them was Sheriff Summers.

                “Two hundred and thirty five miles,” he said slowly, stepping to the forefront of the posse, twelve yards away from their prey. “You gave quite a good chase boys. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.”

                “Go home, Scott.” Hank answered. “You’ve got no jurisdiction here, no rights. Go home and mourn your losses. Leave us in peace.”

                “You’re free to go, Hank. I know you had no real part in this.” The other man answered. His eyes slid to Remy. “It’s him I want.”

                “I didn’t kill Ms. Grey, Sheriff.”

                “Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, snake. Every word that’s come out of your mouth has been a lie. I mean to end it.”

                Remy’s face darkened angrily, “You hot-headed bastard! Why don’t you stop for a second and open your damn eyes to what’s going on around you!”

                “Your wanted for three counts of murder, LeBeau. For Victor Creed, Charles Xavier and Jean Grey. I’ll see you hang.”

                “I didn’t kill _anyone!_ ”

                Hank held him back, “Scott, where is Charles. What happened to him?”

                “Never found a body. Why don’t you ask your friend there what he did with him?”

                “You bastard, I--!”

                They heard the ominous click of hammers on the backs of shotguns being pulled, and Remy stilled, energy crackling from his fingers, ready to fight. Scott moved a little closer, glancing behind the two men at the woman. “Take the woman and leave, Doc. This doesn’t have to get ugly.”

                “I’m afraid it already has,” Hank growled, baring his fangs and the claws on his big hands. Scott sighed bitterly.

                “Don’t make me put you down, McCoy.”

                Something went spinning through the air and exploded near Scott’s head, deafening him and sending him to the ground. Remy had picked up a pebble from the ground and charged it. “I would very dearly like to see you try.” He smirked.

                “Get LeBeau!”

 

**


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * After a very long hiatus this story is finally back in the works and will be finished up here soon! Apologizes and thanks for being patient with me!

 

**

               

                The wind began to pick up from a breeze to a gust, humidity rising. Logan’s mind was not on the hunt; the other wolves already several yards ahead of him, hot on something’s trail. The dark haired man lingered, glancing back in the direction of his camp. McCoy’s words were still stinging at him like nettles, and he couldn’t deny that he was right.

                He wasn’t a lone wolf anymore; he couldn’t spend forever running from his mistakes. The family he had so long hoped for was his at last; and he had a responsibility to make things right for them. He looked around at the wilderness that surrounded him and sighed; part of him would always belong here. But a bigger part was needed back in Tull.

                The wind began to gust and whistle through the trees, making the barren branches above creak and shiver, raising a whirl wind of dry brittle leaves from the ground, whipping and chasing each across the earth, hiding trails and covering footprints.

                Logan caught a new scent on the wind then, something human and strange. He dropped into a crouch behind a tree, blue eyes scanning the forest in front of him. Far in front of him he saw one of the wolves still and growl low and deep in their throat.

                There was thunderous crack then that made him jolt, followed by a loud yip of pain. Logan looked up to see that White Paw had been struck down. He went barreling towards her and crouched beside the wolf’s body, seeing the blood in her pelt. She was already dead.

                Another shot cracked and struck him in the shoulder. He bellowed in pain as buckshot ripped through his muscles and turned, teeth bared to see several men moving through the trees towards him. Red Streak came barreling out of the trees towards them and managed to leap upon one of the men that was not quick enough to defend himself. The stranger screamed as the wolf mauled him, but the others were too preoccupied to stop at help.

                Logan was up and moving, claws fully extending, charging the lot. The fired at him again and again and he dodged their shots easily, falling upon the first and slashing him across the chest before moving onto the second.

                Another assailant managed to get the drop on him from behind, throwing a lasso around Logan as he leapt and causing him to fall to the ground. He attempted to leap on top of the man and pin him, but Logan was stronger and threw him off easily, slashing at him with his claws.

                Red Streak came to his aid, falling upon the man with the rope as Logan broke free, more hunters closing in around him. He took another round of buckshot to the chest and roared in pain, gritting his teeth as the lead was slowly pushed out of his healing wounds.

                “What the hell are you!?” one of the younger men cried out, obviously unprepared for what he had been put up against. Logan snarled at him, slashing at him and making him back up hurriedly, struggling to load another shot.

                He heard a scream then, a female’s scream and he turned in terror. “Jubilee!” He broke free of the men surrounding him, cutting down any that came close, and made his way hurriedly back towards the camp, heart pounding in his ears.

                His heart began to race faster, questions beginning to catch up with him now that he was out of immediate danger. Who were these men, and how had they found them? Why were they after them?

                The remaining hunters were not far behind, Logan could hear their feet thudding over the leaf covered ground yards behind him, the scent of their blood and fear and gun powder still assaulting his nose.

                He mounted the hill that overlooked their dug out, looking down to see that more men, at least six or seven, had surrounded it, all heavily armed. They had broke down the door, and screams could be heard from inside, followed by raucous laughter and jeering.

                Logan let out such a roar that it chilled the men below and they turned to see him bounding forward, bloody claws gleaming. The first two sentries met a swift end, impaled and gutted in two clean strokes. The sentry who had climbed on top of the cave got a clean shot and fired a bullet directly into Logan’s head.

                The man jerked and dropped to his knees, shaking blood from his eyes, before looking upwards and snarling fiercely. “Holy shit! What _is_ he!?”

                More screaming from inside. Logan barreled through the last man baring the door and tumbled inward. Four men inside; one had Jubilee pinned to his bed, while Laura was being held down by the other three, who were trying to restrain her wild movements, her hands being forced down, claws already bloody but unable to find their mark.

                “LOGAN!” Jubilee wailed, the man on top of her forcing her legs apart, having already undressed her from the waist down.

                The man once known as Wolverine fell upon her attacker, skewering him through the back and heaving him away before doing the same to his genitals and leaving him a mutilated mess on the floor. Jubilee moved to cover herself as he turned to Laura’s attackers, two of which had turned away to fight him, leaving their partner unable to tame the young feral below him.

                She removed his head from his shoulders with a scream and was up, leaping onto the back of the second man while Logan took on the first. Both went down easily, but Logan’s stopped short of killing the man in front of him.

                He kept his blades pressed beneath his chin as he snarled down at him; “Tell me who you are and what you’re doing here! _Who sent you!?_ ”

                “Please, please--!” the man stuttered and Logan threatened to stab him, gripping his neck harder.

                “Talk and you keep you get ta keep breathin’!”

                “T-There’s a bounty! T-the-the Sherriff, f-from Tull, he brought us here, paid us good to bring you and the other criminals in! P-please! Please don’t kill me, sir, I got family!”

                Logan shook him and made him whimper; “I oughta do them a favor then if this is the kind of man you are.” He growled and the man began to weep in spite of himself. “Where’s Summers and the others?”

                The man shook his head fearfully; “W-went north, up the hill, saw the other man head that way. We waited here, didn’t know you had girls with you…please, I wasn’t going to—“ Logan clubbed him across the back of the head and let him slump to the ground. When he looked up Laura and Jubilee were on the bed, holding each other and Jubilee was crying.

                He moved swiftly towards them, gathering them both in his arms; “Are you alright? Darlin’, look at me did, did they…?” Jubilee latched onto him hard, face in his neck, shaking like a leaf, unable to speak, but she shook her head no. He looked to Laura, whose clothes were torn, leaving her very exposed.

                “I tried to keep them away from her, they were stronger than I guessed.” She answered. He pulled her closer and kissed her cheeks and hair, hating himself for leaving them alone. He looked around the ruined dug out and saw Greyback’s body by the front door. Blackpaw was still alive, though she had taken a wound to her flank and lay in the corner whimpering.

                Logan feared now for Remy and Hank, not knowing how many more men were out there waiting to attack or how many more might be coming. He pulled off his coat and wrapped it around Laura and then wrapped Jubilee in a blanket, unsure what to do.

                He heard another approach then and turned, teeth bared ready for attack; Laura doing the same. But the stranger who stood in the ruined doorway was not at all what they expected.

The dark skinned woman lingered for a moment, white hair whipping in the gusting wind outside, watching them tentatively. “Are you the man called Logan?”

“Who are you?” Logan growled, ready to defend. But the woman seemed to have taken some injuries herself, her legs and arms bore bruising and scratches and there were blood splatters on her clothing.

“My name is Ororo, better known to your people as Storm. This land you’ve taken belongs to my tribe. But that is not why I am here.” She looked worriedly to the young women beside him, eyeing the one with claws and the other who couldn’t stop her sobs, clinging to the man before her. She noted then the dead men inside the cabin and the dead and wounded wolves.

“Have you any injured? I can help.”

“State yer business, then we’ll talk,” Logan said, sounding stern but not angry. The woman who called herself Storm stepped further inside, but Laura kept her from fully approaching, showing her the blades that protruded from her hands.

“I am a friend of the man you know as Henry McCoy.” She said, making them all look up in surprise. “I was with him and the man who called LeBeau when we were attacked by men such as these.” She nudged one of the corpses with her foot, rolling him over to have a better look at him. “They are men from the town; I have seen them before. It does not surprise me to find them here in this state.”

“Hank and Remy, where are they?” Logan asked urgently.

The woman shook her head sadly; “Taken by the man who called himself Sheriff. I managed to escape; I came here in hopes I could find help for them.”

Logan felt his heart sink; “Were they hurt?”

“Beaten; the Doctor took many injuries before they brought him down. He is a ferocious warrior.” Her eyes turned to the young woman in Logan’s arms. “Your girls; they been hurt?”

He nodded, huddling Jubilee closer. “Ma’am, If my friends have been taken I have to get them back, before the Sheriff punishes them both for crimes they ain’t guilty of. I need a safe place to take my girls, and a fast means of travel. Any aid you could give would be appreciated.”

The dark woman thought it over in silence for a moment then nodded, rising and ushering them to follow. She looked to the wounded wolf by the door and noticed its swollen abdomen. Carefully she reached down to stroke its pelt. “You have tamed them? This one is wounded, but might be saved. Shall I bring her?”

Logan nodded, gathering Jubilee up and moving alongside Laura out of the door, stepping over bodies as they did. Laura paused and looked back at the man Logan had left unconscious on the floor. “What about him?” she asked.

“Leave ‘im, he’ll make his way back to town and warn the rest. We’ll be long gone by the time he does.”

She nodded as they stepped outside. Red Streak was waiting and Logan called to the old leader, who followed at their heels, hurrying away from death filled camp sight. They moved in silence through the trees for a time, back towards where Hank and Remy had disappeared earlier. There was no sound, except for quiet sobs and whimpers from Jubilee and Blackpaw.

Logan saw signs of the battle now; broken trees and scorched earth; blood stained grass and leaves, heavy claw marks on the land and discarded bullet shells. He could smell bodies too, not far from here. He walked a little closer to the woman who lead them on.

“How many attacked?”

“Enough,” she answered. “The Sheriff was determined; he came prepared with unusual weaponry. Your friends fought hard, but they were overwhelmed.”

“How did you escape?”

She smirked and let herself be lifted from the ground, rising several feet above him, carried on a self-created current of air. Logan nodded and waited as she used her elevation to survey the land around them, making sure there were no more trespassers lying in wait.

Gratefully what remained of the hunting party seemed to have moved on. In the distance they heard the lonely whistle of the train, slowly approaching the station. She could see the black smoke rising from its engine car and let herself fall back to earth.

“Where do you come from?” she asked, looking to him once more.

“Town of Tull,” Logan answered.

“That is many miles from here.”

Logan nodded; “That whistle sounds like it’s callin’ for them. I’d better go, if I have any hope of catchin’ them.”

Jubilee wrapped her arms tight around his neck; “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare run off and leave me again!”

The dark haired man held her tightly and shushed her; “I won’t darling. But yer hurt, I need ya to be safe. Can’t bring ya with me, won’t take the risk.”

The girl sobbed harder against him and Logan didn’t know what to do. Storm gave him a sympathetic look; “I have horses, swift ones. They are yours, in exchange for one thing;”

“What’s that?”

“Allow me to come with you. These men have attacked me, committed crimes on my people’s land and hurt my friends. I will see that they are punished for it.”

Logan considered, then looked to Laura, who had been watching the woman the whole time like a hawk. “What do you think?” he asked.

The young woman turned her gaze to him and nodded; “I trust her. She doesn’t smell like she’s lying.”

Storm raised an eyebrow in amusement and smiled. “Do we have an accord then?”

Logan nodded. “I will leave the injured wolf in the care of my tribe.” The woman added, turning suddenly from the path and leading them through a thicket, where apparently another of her people had been waiting and watching. Logan was impressed; neither he nor Laura had been heard of smelled him.

She spoke quickly in another tongue, which they understood very little of, and gave the wounded creature over to the younger man, who cradled it and hurried off. Storm watched him go and then turned back to her companions. “The horses are this way.”

“We’ll only need two; Jubilee will ride with you.” Logan said to the woman, then quickly glanced at Laura once more. “Can you ride, darlin’?”

The young woman shook her head, seeming slightly baffled by the idea. “One then,” he corrected.

The snowy haired woman looked at him in surprise. “And what about you?”

“I’m too heavy for a horse;” he noted. “Besides…I run faster on my own.”

They approached the corral that was at the edge of Storm’s village. Logan glanced nervously back down the ridge, where he saw the train begin to pull out of the station. He sat Jubilee down, looking her in the eyes; “Darlin’, I’ve got to go on ahead. But you’ll be right behind me, understand? And if you ever lose sight, you just holler and I’ll come running back. Alright?”

She nodded, her face flushed from crying and he kissed her cheeks before turning her over to Storm, who gingerly guided the girl towards the fence. The feral turned back towards the ridge, judging the distance down before looking to Laura.

“Time to run, darlin’. Like I taught ya. Think ya can keep up?”

The young woman seemed more than confident, nodding her head. He grunted in reply and took off at a leap, her following at his heels. They descended the deep incline of the hill, running at times on two legs and at others on four, fast and faster. Storm barely had time to ready her horse and climb aboard with Jubilee before they were at the bottom, hitting the open ground at a roll and a run, following the tracks of the train as it thundered just ahead.

 

 

***

 

                Gambit came to, his head pulsing with a savage headache that started at the base of his skull and radiated upwards. He was lying on dry brittle straw that smelled like dust and horse and groaned, forcing himself up. He was met with a tightness around his wrist and ankles and heard a clinking, clanking metallic rustle of shackles.

                He strained against them, feeling the steel bite his skin, and found his movements painfully restricted, the whole mess tethered to a peg on the floor, giving him very little room to move.

                He heard a sigh and a moan next to him and Remy turned to find Hank lying on the floor next to him, unconscious and looking worse for wear. “Henri!”

                He was able to move closer to the man, crouching beside his figure worriedly, seeing dried blood in the man’s thick blue fur. “Oh mon frère, what did they do to you?” he gasped, trying to rouse the injured mutant. He heard a noise from behind and turned his head to see someone watching them from the corner of the train car.

                Sheriff Summers sat on a chair which was propped up against the wall of the train car they now found themselves in, a riffle across his lap, the red lenses of his goggles shining faintly in the light that filtered through the wooden slats of the box car.

                “It didn’t have to come to this,” Scott said quietly. “You should have given yourself up; spared a lot of good men.”

                Gambit sneered and got to his feet, though he could do little more than stand with his feet and hands tethered to the floor. “Dis is none of _my_ doing, Sheriff! If you had listened to me for one damn second---!”

                “I’m not interested in your lies,” Scott replied, standing as well. “You’ve been lying to people ever since you showed up in my town. You may have gotten to Logan, and even poor Hank here. But not me; Gambit. I see right through you.”

                Remy glowered at him; “I’m sorry for what happened to your Ms. Grey, Sheriff. I tried to save her.”

                “From what exactly?” Scott muttered. “You were alone with her, LeBeau. You and Xavier. No one else could have possibly gotten in; I was right outside the whole time.”

                “No one else _did_ get in;” Remy muttered. “Don’t suppose you ever found Xavier’s body?”

                Scott grew quiet; “How did you know that?”

                “Cause Xavier was never _there._ He’d been replaced; when I don’t know, by Raven Darkholm. She’s a shape shifter; can take any form she chooses, and you’d never know de difference until it was too late.”

                “Seems a little _convenient_.” the Sheriff retorted, though he looked slightly less sure of himself.

                LeBeau looked at him flatly; “Does dis _look_ convenient for me, m’sieur?” he muttered bitterly. He fell back to the floor next to Beast, smoothing a comforting hand across his head and neck. “Suppose you got Logan and de girls as well. You treatin’ dem like animals too?”

                Scott said nothing and Remy found this very interesting; perhaps the Sheriff had not managed to catch Logan and the girls. He prayed they were safe and unharmed.

                “Why would Lady Darkholm replace Xavier? For what purpose?” Scott asked then.

                Remy paused, considering; “Could be any number o’ reasons, Sheriff. Never met a woman as cunning or deadly as Raven Darkholm. And if her husband’s involved…”

                “Victor Creed is dead, you shot him in the head.”

                Gambit chuckled ruefully; “Wrong again, mon ami. I shot him, absolutely. But he has trouble stayin’ dead. I had hoped de damage I inflicted would be too much for him to revive from, but…” he touched his wounded throat again absently. “I was wrong.”

                “You’re tellin me he’s alive? We buried him!”

                “Ever occur to you to check de grave, m’sieur? In fact…how long it been since you been in Tull?”

                Scott narrowed his eyes at him; “I left the same day as you; or don’t you recall running from me?”

                Remy blinked in surprise, feeling a pinch of nervousness in his stomach; “Den who…who’s guarding de town? De Mayor is missing, very likely dead, and you’ve been chasing me all dis time? M’sieur, you have given dat mad woman just _exactly_ what she wanted.”

                Scott seemed rather unnerved by the prospect and began to pace nervously. Remy ignored him and turned his attentions back to Hank, who was moaning and muttering beside him, clearly in pain.

                He started to revive, blinking and lifting his bushy head; “Remy? Is that you my friend?” he mumbled. Gambit let the other mutant rest his head on his lap.

                “Oui, mon frère, it’s me. Don’t try to move too much, you took quite de beating back there.” He said calmly.

                Beast grunted, reaching back to rub his aching back. He was startled then to note the chains around Remy’s wrists. He sat up hurriedly, blinking and found Scott standing away from them.

                “Impressed with yourself, I gather,” the blue furred man muttered bitterly. “What would Charles say if he saw you now, my friend? He’d be overwhelmed with disappointment I think; seeing you turn on your friends and neighbors so easily.”

                “Believe me, Henry, it was anything but e _asy_.” Scott shot back, glaring at him. But his anger subsided quickly and he shook his head remorsefully. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s come to this. What choice did I have? She’s gone, Hank, I _saw_ him throw her from the stairs!”

                “I was trying to catch her after Raven _shot_ her!” Remy shouted, eyes gleaming with energy. “Raven attacked us; afraid no doubt Jean had uncovered her secret! She tried to kill us both!”

                “You _ran_!”

                “What else could I do when you were tryin’ ta blow my head off?!”

                There was a knock on the door behind them and Summers turned to slid it open and allow another man to enter. Neither of the mutants recognized him, but he gave them a hard appraising look as he observed them.

                “Everything alright in here, Sheriff?”

                “Everything’s fine,” Scott answered, sounding less sure of himself. “Any sign of Howlett?”

                The man nodded; “Heard from one our boys in town; only one man returned from the posse; all the others were killed.”

                “Killed?” Scott gasped. “How?”

                “Howlett. He didn’t take too kindly to raid on his home, I guess. They tried to take the girls, he said, but he wiped them out.”

                The Sheriff frowned darkly; “They were supposed to _subdue_ him. I warned you what he could do; what he _would_ do if he was cornered. Bringing the girls into it was _stupid_ they weren’t supposed to be harmed!”

                The other man shrugged him off; “A little late for that now, Sheriff. But I’m sure you’ll get another chance at him. No doubt he’ll be looking for more blood.” He looked again to Remy and Hank. “Ya sure you don’t want me to chain the blue one up? Don’t need another go-round like we did up there in the hills.”

                Hank tensed, growling, but Scott waved him off. “That won’t be necessary. Go; let me know if you hear any more on Howlett’s whereabouts.”

                The other man nodded slowly and departed once more. Beast sat up with some effort, glaring at him, “Those men’s deaths are on _your_ head, Scott. What were you thinking, collecting these thugs to capture us? Surely you _knew_ what would happen!”

                Scott glared at them; “Quiet! I’ve heard enough.” He turned away from the two of them, staring at the passing landscape between the narrow slats of the car.

                Remy turned back to Hank, trying to make the doctor comfortable and examine his various hurts. Luckily none of them seemed too damaging. His mind was racing; though his face was sullen and passive. He knew Logan would follow them; if he was at all able. Surely Summers expected the same. The man would no doubt be heading into the waiting arms of more of the Sheriff’s bounty hunters and hired hands; all ready to put him down like a rabid mountain lion.

                “What do they want?” Scott asked suddenly after a time.

                Gambit glanced back at him curiously to find the Sherriff looking at him tentatively; “What do they want, these Darkholms? What’s their game?”

                “Not sure I know what you mean,” Remy answered gruffly, turning away again. Scott made his way towards him, coming to crouch beside him on the floor. He looked serious, and slightly desperate, perhaps realizing for the first time how rash his actions had been.

                “You say you’re innocent; you say you were coerced by these people. Then you know what they’re capable of. If you truly are innocent then help me understand what happened.”

                Gambit glared at him; “I cannot give you answers I don’t have. When we came to your town it was not wit de intent to stay; but dat changed when Victor saw Logan. Your Ms. Grey had made Logan forget his past; but Victor remembered it very well. Dey once fought together for de Union; and dere was bad blood between dem. Victor holds grudges…”

                “Did you know about this?”

                “Non, not until I found Logan again.” Remy answered. He looked hard at Scott then. “You were so quick to believe he was a killer; so quick to believe he hadn’t changed from de man he was before your Jean Grey came to him. You drove him away; the one t’ing between standing between your town and deir wickedness. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

                “You didn’t know Logan then. And who told you--?”

                “He did, of course. It all came back to him; everything she and Xavier erased. It’s why he’s stayed away; _not_ because he committed any crime, but because _you_ and people _like you_ made him afraid to trust himself.”          

                The Sheriff mulled this over for a moment in silence, frowning deeply. Remy knew he had struck a chord with him, so he remained silent as well, stroking Hank’s fur while the man drifted in and out of consciousness next to him.

                “What happened to Jean?” he asked softly then.

                Remy sighed quietly; “I can only tell you what I know; Xavier was behaving strangely, and so I had devised a plan to leave along wit de Doctor here, to look for Logan. Jean must have sensed my intentions, she tried to explain to me why she…why she took my memories, and what she saw dere. Looking back now…she must have seen Victor attack me, and dat frightened and confused her. Raven, disguised as your Mayor, must have convinced her she was wrong and told her to erase it from my mind, in case I recovered. Dat way, I couldn’t reveal dat Victor was still alive.”

                The two men sat in heavy silence for a moment, weighing the gravity of these words. Remy licked his lips and spoke again; “You’re town, m’sieur, we had never come across de likes of before. Dere always seems to be a few here and there, if you know where to look, but most are hiding. But Tull’s like a beacon for our kind…I shudder to t’ink what de two of dem could do with such power at deir hands.”

                “So you should,” a voice said from behind them that made them both jump. Scott turned to see his informant had once again entered the train car, walking towards them, riffled carefully aimed. “You actually _do_ have a brain in that pretty little head of yours, Remy, I’ll give you that. You could have been so much more; if it weren’t for that damn _conscience_ of yours.”

                “Raven!”

                The man shifted, changing from the figure of the stout mustached bounty hunter to the alluring blue-skinned creature known as Raven Darkholm. Scott reached for his visor, ready to fire at her, but she fired at them, causing them both to dive for cover, Remy throwing himself over Hank while Scott fell flat on his back.

                Before he could recover the woman leapt upon him, striking him hard in the face and knocking him unconscious. She pressed the heel of her boot against his chest, looking down at him appreciatively; “Pathetic little man, always mumbling about that woman, all wrapped up in guilt. Far too easy to manipulate. I wasn’t sure he’d ever realize what was going on right under his nose.”

                Gambit was staring at her from his position over Beast, who was awake once more and blinking in fear and confusion as the woman turned towards them; “Train will be arriving soon, boys. I know a few people who will be _terribly_ glad to see you.”

                Beast was suddenly trying to pull himself up, eyes flashing, Remy struggling to keep him down; “You vile harpee! What have you done with Charles?!” he roared, voice fading into an animalistic snarl that Remy had never heard him use.

                Raven paused thoughtfully; “You know, I had almost forgot about poor little Chuck. He was surprisingly easy to fool as well; I expected better from a renowned telepath. But people are so easily distracted from the obvious…” she shifted again, changing effortlessly into an exact look-alike of Beast himself, dressed in his usual suit and tie. “…when you dangle something they want in front of them.”

                Hank stared breathlessly for a moment at the woman who stood in his skin, and Remy felt his emotions rise and fall with the implications of her words for a moment before he bellowed like lion and tried to slash at her. Gambit yanked him back fiercely, but Raven was all too ready for his reaction. Still in Hank’s form, she easily tackled and bludgeoned the large mutant, sending him back to the floor, slashed across his chest and bleeding from a hefty gash just above his left eye.

                He sunk into Remy’s arms, who struggled to hold him. The shapeshift turned to her former associate, smirking as she shrunk back down into her own skin. “What’s the matter, Remy? No valiant display of loyalty for your new friends?”

                He glared at her darkly, Hank’s head pressed against his chest and shoulder. “I am not a fool, Raven, whatever else you may consider me. I know I cannot fight you.”

                She grinned and stroked his cheek, grabbing his chin and lifting his face to hers long enough to give him a little kiss. “I’m glad Victor didn’t kill you, LeBeau. I’ve always had a sort of fondness for you, to tell the truth. If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll convince Victor not to rip your traitorous little guts out...are you a good boy, Remy?”

                Gambit grinned and pulled her in closer, smiling his devil’s smile, allowing his Charm to sink in and take hold; “Dat depends, Madame, on what you can do for _moi_.” He kissed her back, stealing her breath for a moment, then released her just as quickly.

                Raven grinned and turned away, leaving them alone again, latching the door behind her. Remy waited until she was sure she was gone, then laid Hank gently upon the floor. He grabbed hold of the length of chain between his shackles, clenched his fists around them and grit his teeth as he let a charge of energy pass through his fingers.

                A second later there was a loud pop as the chains ruptured, leaving his palms stinging and aching, and he bent to do the same to those around his ankles. Once free, he moved to check on the Sheriff and found him only stunned, not seriously injured. Remy moved to the door of the train, looking out at the speeding landscape beyond. They were moving too quickly to risk jumping; and he didn’t dare leave Hank or the Sheriff behind, not even to get help.

                Raven was too cunning a creature to be trusted; and now that Remy had more insight to her plan, he knew he would have to wait until they reached Tull. He prayed Logan was close behind; he could sense it in fact, almost instinctively. But even that was no promise of rescue; if he wanted to stay alive and keep his friends alive as well, he was going to have to think on his feet.

 

***


	21. Chapter 21

***

 

                Heavy rains proceeded the train’s arrival in Tull, the roaring sound of it almost dulling out the roar and creak of the engine as it pulled into the station, engine whistling shrilly over the drumming downpour.

                Hank came awake again, confused and alarmed, rolling onto his hands and knees, ready to spring away. He felt a hand upon his back and looked up to see Remy crouched beside him; broken shackles dangling from his wrists.

                “Remy?” the Doctor asked, having enough presence of mind to keep his voice down, though he doubted anyone was listening to them. “What’s going on?”

                “We’re home,” The Cajun replied quietly, red and black eyes watching the door of the boxcar. “Glad you’re awake, was afraid we might not get a chance to speak again.”

                Beast sat back on his haunches, wincing faintly in pain, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean?”

                Remy chanced a careful glance in his direction; “Dose doors will be openin’ any second and they’ll take us. The Sheriff too most likely;” he nodded to Scott, who remained senseless upon the floor. “I’m going to let dem take me; but you have a chance ta run. They’ll be armed, I’m sure, but if you’re going to have any chance, now’s de time.”

                Hank stood and squared his broad shoulders, cracking his neck to relieve the stiffness. “I’m not going anywhere until I find Charles. And I’m not about to abandon you now, my friend, not when we’ve already come this far.”

                The former outlaw gave him a grateful smile; “You an honorable man, Doc. Will do my best to make sure you stay safe and find your love. Just…promise me won’t t’ink less of me for what I’m about to do.”

                Hank raised an curious brow and began to speak, but at that moment the door rattled and slid open, reveal a dozen heavily armed men, all strangers, looking back at them. They surged into the car when they saw that neither Remy nor Beast were chained, falling upon the two and dragging them out at gun point, following behind with Sheriff Summers, whom they dragged.

                “Don’t even _think_ about struggling,” one of the men growled, grinding the barrel of his revolver against Remy’s temple menacingly.

                Gambit only smiled, hands raised in surrender before they were dragged roughly behind his back. “Now now, gentlemen, why all de fuss? Have I done somet’ing to upset ya’ll so? I’ve ever so sorry if I have, it’s just in my nature to stir things up I suppose.” He gave another devilish grin and the men around him seemed to ease back.

                It didn’t take Beast long to realize that Remy was allowing his Charm to do its work; making him seem more and more likeable to the men around him. “Dat’s better,” Remy replied as the men let go of his arms and let him stand freely. “Now, why don’t you play a bit nicer wit my companions as well, and _do_ be gentle wit M’sieur Summers. Poor man’s had a rough go of it.”

                “Sure, sure, Mister LeBeau.” The man holding Scott nodded, letting the semi-conscious man sink completely onto the platform, moaning softly. He looked eagerly to Remy for approval and Cajun gave it, blowing him a little kiss.

                Beast bent to lift Scott, who was finally coming to himself; “What…what’s going on?”

                “Stay calm, Sheriff. I believe for the moment we have this handled,” Hank whispered, eyes flickering nervously to the surrounding men.

                “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Raven’s voice said suddenly as she stepped onto the platform and approached the group.

                “Nothing, Miss Darkholm! Just taking care of your guests, like you asked.” The man in charge replied, somewhat distractedly, as he kept glancing back at Remy.

                The red haired woman rolled her eyes, hands on her hips; “Well, I suppose I should be surprised, but I’m not. Peons like these fall all too easily into that snare of yours, LeBeau.” She replied, looking to the Cajun, who stood placidly in front of her, still smiling.

                “Ya catch more flies wit honey, as de sayin’ goes, Madame.” He made to reach out and touch her hair, but she caught his hand, for a moment looking as though she would snap it, but paused.

                “You don’t fool me,” she answered, somewhat unconvincingly. “I get the slightest hint that you’re trying to wine and dine your way out this, and I’ll snap that long neck of yours.”

                “Wouldn’t dream of it, Madame.” Remy answered, bowing his head. He glanced around at the station and the town beyond, surprised when he saw no other movement, nor saw any other presence at the station. “Your darling daughter and husband didn’t come to meet you? How rude of them.”

                “I’m sure they’re occupied elsewhere.” She looked to Hank and Scott and the men surrounding them. “Bring these two along, make sure they don’t try run off.”

                Remy extended an arm to her and Mystique took it, the pair walking head of the rest of the crowd; Remy doing his best not to look back at his friends, who were no doubt looking on in shock. “I’m not so sure dey’ll be pleased to see me,” he said to the woman beside him as they walked beneath her parasol in the rain. “You remember our arrangement, non?”

                “I haven’t forgotten, Cajun. As long as you keep up _your_ end of the deal; I’ll see that Victor doesn’t mistreat you in the meantime.”

                She reached into the folds of her dress and produced something small and cylindrical, which she then handed to Remy. It was a very small vial, containing some sort of strange nearly luminous yellow liquid. Gambit examined it with a keen eye; “And you sure dis will do de job? You know what will happen if it fails.”

                The woman smiled serenely at him in her usual sinister way; “It won’t fail; I paid well for it. And even if it should, I’ll deny any knowledge of it. Most likely you’ll be dead before you’d be able to offer any proof.”

                Remy nodded and tucked the vial into his belt. “As usual, Madame, you have thought of everyt’ing. Killing yer own husband t’ough…what drove you to it, I wonder?”

                She scratched a finger under his chin and Remy struggled not to pull away from the touch; “I got a better offer, darling. What more would I need?”

               

                The rain began to taper off a little at a time, and as it’s grey veil lifted, they began to see the town in a new light. Unfortunately, it was not a very flattering one. Considerable damage had been done to much of the main square; windows broken, showing signs of looting and violence. No one was out in the streets save for themselves, and here and there Remy saw eyes watching them from darkened windows and doorways; fearful eyes.

                Remy felt it all around; an air of terror that had taken over the little town. It was everywhere he looked; signs of violence and devastation and deep seeded dread. It was even in the men who followed behind them; a kind of wariness that came from tyranny and brutal authority.

                Gambit chanced a look back at Hank and Scott as they rounded the corner, giving the Doctor what he hoped was an assuring glance. Beast nodded faintly, understanding, though very uncomfortable.

                They found themselves then standing in front of Logan’s Inn. Remy’s steps slowed to a stop, eyes fixed ahead, gawking. The beautiful Inn had been ravaged; though it was still standing, unlike much of the shops and homes surrounding it.

                Windows in the upper floors were broken, curtains swaying in the damp breeze, and he could hear crying and loud raucous laughter from inside. On the wide, wrap-around porch there was another slew of men; none of them local, all heavily armed and most drunk off their ass. Somewhere slumped; passed out drunk in rocking chairs and leaning against railings, others were engaging in other acts with several young women from the brothel, all within clear view of everyone around them.

                Behind him he heard Beast mutter an oath and suddenly Scott surged to life, trying to fight his way forward. “You _bitch_!” he heard him yell, turning to see the man struggling to get to Raven and being forcibly held back by her entourage. “What have you done here?!”

                Raven turned and slapped him across the face as hard as she could before reaching around his head and pulling his goggles from his face. Scott bellowed in a panic, shutting his eyes tightly. “No! NO! Give them back; I can’t control it--!”

                She grabbed his face, digging her nails into his cheeks; “Then you’d better keep those eyes shut tight then; and listen up. Tull is mine now, Sheriff. You left it defenseless, off on your little crusade to catch the man who murdered your lady love. Noble, but very stupid, especially considering you left the real killer behind.”

                Scott screamed and try to grab at her blindly, but the men holding him forced him down in the dirt. Raven pressed the toe of her boot to his head, flattening it to the ground. “It’s a pity really; I would have preferred to continue on as I was, playing the role of your beloved Mayor, taking things over nice and quietly. But, I admit, it did speed the process along. And that does _please_ my husband.”

                “What have you done with Charles?” Hank demanded once more behind her. “Or did you kill him too, you vile bitch?”

                She smirked at him; “Xavier’s alive. But only while I find him useful,” she answered. “You may want to keep that in mind, Doctor.”

                She stepped away from him and motioned for them to come along again. Remy did his best to keep his expression passive, taking her arm again and stepping past the drunken sentries outside the door into the Inn’s saloon.

                Inside, if possible, was worse than outside.

                There was an overwhelming stench of sweat, stale beer, sex and gunpowder. The tables were in disarray, but no less crowded with more men like those outside; all half inebriated, angry and lusty, a few with partners reluctantly sitting in their laps or at their knees. Remy recognized a few of them as Emma’s girls; others…looked less experienced.

                At the head of it all was an all too familiar menacing figure. Victor Creed was draped lazily across a chair, feet kicked up on the table top, swilling a bottle of Logan’s expensive bourbon and looking drowsily at his sordid companions.

                The moment Raven and Gambit stepped through the door, his eyes flickered with golden light and he began to chuckle softly, wickedly, and then let the sound grow until it was an uproarious laugh that silenced the rest of the room.

                He slammed the empty amber bottle down upon the table, hearing it crack and lifted himself from his seat, sauntering towards the new arrivals. He was dressed in finer clothes; things he’d no doubt stolen, and even bore Charles’ gold watch and chain, a fact that made Beast stir bitterly behind them.

                “Look what the cat dragged in,” Creed chuckled, tilting back the brim of his hat to better look at his guests. His eyes had settled on Remy, who stood tall and surprisingly still in the presence of the man who had brutalized and nearly killed him on their last meeting.

                Creed looked Gambit up and down, circling him as Raven stepped slightly to the side, poised and composed. “Now this _is_ a treat,” Victor chuckled, voice thick and husky with drunkenness as he looked down at the other man. “You know, I don’t remember resurrection being part of your list of talents, LeBeau, yet somehow you’ve acquired it all the same. I’m impressed.”

                He took a clawed finger and tugged the bandana around Gambit’s neck away, revealing the scar there and brushed his fingers across it. Remy shifted only slightly, forcing himself to look past Victor rather than directly at him.

                “I should be angry, I suppose. But ya know, I just can’t find it in me to displeased with seein ya.” He looked over to Raven, scowling slightly. “Maybe now I’ll get a proper fuck around this shit hole of a town.”

                “No need to be so crass, Victor,” Raven replied.

                “Shut up, woman.” He snarled. He looked back at Remy, still fondling his throat and made him lift his head to look him in the eye. “What’s the matter, swamp rat? Nothin’ ta say to me?”

                “What’s dere to say, mon cher?” Remy replied, voice remarkably steady despite the faint tremble Victor felt in his skin. “You just prove de point you been makin’ all along; dat anyone who dares to fuck wit you will get what’s comin ta dem.”

                Victor grinned, feeling the Cajun brush lightly up against him, one nimble hand playin’ across his massive bicep. “Yer such a little snake, LeBeau, always somehow on the winning side. That’s what I like about ya…well, that and that mouth of yers.”

                Remy grinned, tangling a hand in a fistful of Creed’s long hair and yanking him lower only to lean up and kiss him. Only Hank noticed the angry scowl on Remy’s face as he did so, and looked away, unable to watch.

                Creed pulled the Cajun away at length and grinned before raising his hand and slapping the man hard enough to send him to the floor. Beast startled, making to move forward but felt his captors press their guns harder against him in warning.

                “Ye think I’m stupid, don’t ya?” Creed muttered to LeBeau. “Ye think ol’ Victor forgets; but he _don’t_. And he ain’t the type to forgive and forget.”

                “Please, m’sieur…” Remy mumbled, “I was wrong to be wit Logan. I learned my lesson.” Creed bent beside him and grabbed his chin in his clawed hand, forcing him to look him in the eye.

                “Ye got the first part right, Cajun. But the lesson’s just startin’.” He motioned for one of his own men to move forward and pick Remy up, dragging his hands behind his back. “Truss ‘em up and put ‘em in my room. I’ll deal with him later.” He looked past Remy towards Hank and Scott and grinned. “Take the blue one while yer at it…but leave the Sheriff.”

                Remy struggled, but only feebly, casting another look in Hank and Scott’s direction. His face was a bit more worried this time as he was dragged out of sight. Hank resisted, trying to stay with Scott, who was still keeping his eyes shut tightly, an expression of strain and growing panic on his face as he was forced forward blindly.

                Creed looked the unexpected newcomer over, circling him as he was tossed to the floor in the middle of the room. Scott groped about blindly, but every time he made to stand Creed knocked him back down to his knees, causing peals of laughter from his cronies, who stood idly by to watch the impending torture.

                “Thought we’d seen the last of you, law man,” Creed chuckled, watching his squirm. “You rode outta this town after LeBeau so fast that yer pretty girlfriend’s corpse wasn’t even _cold_ yet.”

                The Sheriff bore his teeth and turned his head in the direction of the man’s voice; “I’m going to make you pay for what you did to her; to _all_ of us. You’ll be swinging from the gallows before the day is out, I swear it.”

“And how are you gonna manage that, little man, when you can’t even see me?” Creed laughed, kicking out at him. Scott managed to roll onto his feet and stand, opening his eyes to a thin slit. The resulting blast sent the crowd around them screaming and running as the optic blast destroyed several tables, tore up floor boards and charred the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Scott struggled to close his eyes again, only to be grabbed by Creed and forced back against him, the big feral’s arm clamped a little too tightly around his neck, squeezing firmly. “Sure you wanna do that, Sheriff? Aint’ just _my_ people holed up in here, ya know. Somewhere in this dump is your precious Mayor, not to mention yer other girlfriend and now LeBeau and the Doc. You willing ta risk all their lives just to end mine?”

Scott stilled and Creed could taste his tension and fear. He grinned, binding the man’s hands behind his back with his belt and securing them tightly. Scott stiffened, breathing a little sharper, but he held his head up, turning it in Creed’s direction; “I suppose you think you’re going to torture me. Go ahead. You don’t scare me.”

Creed ghosted a breath across the nape of the man’s neck, drawing a clawed finger lightly down his spine. “Yer an _awful_ liar, Sheriff.”

                Scott tensed further, trying to pull away, but Creed kept him uncomfortably close, getting a new high off the man’s fear scent. “Yer brave enough; sure. No doubt ya could take a beating like a champ; even if ya are a bit of a string bean.” He cackled, making Scott wince at the heavy smell of liquor on his breath. “But the idea of being beaten to a pulp ain’t what has ya quivering. It’s that I’m so close…ye ain’t used to other men being so close.”

                The brunette tried to squirm away but Victor tugged him back each time, keeping Scott pressed against him, hands wandering as he removed the man’s affects including his gun belt and ammunition, tossing them into the crowd.

                “I think one of the reasons you were so quick to judge LeBeau is the simple fact that he scares the shit outta ya, Scotty. Ye didn’t want to believe his stories; about how he was treated. Cause you don’t like the idea of a man being that way with other men. Ye couldn’t riddle out how we could have made him so vulnerable, so helpless. And ya couldn’t figure out why he and yer Inn Keeper were so close and cozy. It made ya nervous.”

                Scott scoffed, though his lips trembled a little bit; “That has nothing to do with it. I underestimated how much of a monster you were, that’s all. I was too hard on LeBeau; a mistake I mean to rectify by putting you in a noose.”

                “Ye think I ain’t been in one before? Been hanged three times in my life, Sheriff. Guess it didn’t take, now did it?” He ran his claws down the front of the man’s shirt, quickly and easily severing the buttons, letting each bounce to the floor.

                The Sheriff’s jaw clenched a little tighter and Creed chuckled thickly, seeing the little beads of sweat forming on his neck and at his hairline and temples. He then grabbed the man’s collar and yanked his shirt down his arms, letting it tangle and wad around his bound hands. Scott grunted at the force, but made no other outcry until he felt Creed slide a hand around the narrow curve of his hip and reach for his trousers.

                “Get off me, you sick bastard!” he snarled.

                Victor laughed softly again, lips at Scott’s ear. “What’er ye _more_ scared of, Summers? That LeBeau was right about me, and I’m gonna defile ya? Or that ye might _like_ it?” He reached down and grabbed Scott between the legs, taking the lot of him in his fist and squeezing tightly.

                Scott shouted and threw his head back, hitting Creed sharply in the face, smashing his nose and causing a heavy squirt of blood. The feral mutant snarled and turned the man sharply, flinging him against the bar before slamming his head down against it, forcing him to remained painfully bent over across the counter.

                The bigger mutant leaned over him, keeping one hand firmly against Scott’s neck while the other continued to toy with him, petting and squeezing him in turn, feeling the man jolt and twist, trying to get away.

                “Sensitive little bugger, ain’t ya?” Creed mused.

                Scott shouted and cursed but couldn’t get Creed away; the man’s touches were rough and insistent, but not painful. He should have been thankful for this; but instead it made the torment that much worse. Because in spite of himself and the loathing and increased dread he felt, he was still becoming aroused, even more so when he felt the bigger man push up against his backside.

                “N-n-no, _stop it!_ ” Scott rasped, pushing back in an effort to knock the man away, only to feel himself gripped more thoroughly and in turn feel that Victor was becoming rather aroused himself. He almost opened his eyes in pure shock at what he felt, hardly daring to believe the man could have that much girth or length.

                Creed snickered as he watched goosebumps rise on the man’s skin. “Ya want me to do it quick, Sheriff? I could ya know; could stuff ya right now and leave ya torn and screamin’ and bloody. But that would be a waste of an opportunity. Am I right, darlin’?” he asked, looking back then at Raven, who was watching them from her seat near the door, still sitting under the shade of her parasol.

                “How long are you going to play with your food, Victor?” she asked drearily.

                “Ya used ta _like_ it when I toyed with ‘em. Ya used ta get off on watchin’, as I recall.” He squeezed Scott a little tighter, moving from merely fondling and petting to stroking, earning a yelp and a moan from the man below him.

                She didn’t reply and Creed turned his attention back to his victim, who was struggling to keep his mouth shut even though his breathing had turned somewhat ragged and his cheeks were getting steadily flushed with blood.

                “Got something ta say, law man?” the drunk above him purred, squeezing his thick fingers around Scott’s neck and making him gasp slightly.

                “Stop…stop, please…you have to…” he rasped, hips swaying against Victor’s palm without even meaning to.

The outlaw grinned and rubbed his thumb over the man’s lips. “Ye don’t sound so convincing.” He replied. He managed to strip the bound man down the rest of the way, leaving him fully exposed before the crowed room.

Scott cursed in his humiliation and tried to turn towards him, ready to open his eyes and let Creed fry, hell with the consequences. But the outlaw was prepared for such a maneuver, and whipped the man around, pressing him up against him, facing the crowd of drunken onlookers. “Wouldn’t try it if I were you,” Creed muttered. “Unless you don’t care who you kill.”

_“Damn you!”_

Victor twisted his head, grabbing a fist full of hair and made the man cry out in pain as he felt his neck muscled strain before bowing his own head to lick the long line of skin, hand still working between the man’s legs, stroking him roughly and slowly to draw the experience out.

“Steady Sheriff, I ain’t even got to the best part yet.”

His hand moved away from Scott’s cock, lifting his hand to lick his own fingers in his mouth before moving behind him, gripping his ass harshly before moving slowly inward. Scott bellowed, trying frantically to pull away, but Victor had a tight grip on his head and wouldn’t let him move more than a few inches.

“Don’t be shy,” Creed cooed as the men around them laughed at the suffering in front of them. Scott visibly trembled as Victor forced a finger inside him, and cried out when he forced a second one in, frustrated tears welling up beneath his eyelids.

“Nice and tight. Clenchin’ won’t do ya much good though, slim,” Victor muttered, forcing himself in deeper and wrenching another cry from the man in front of him. “Unless maybe ye _prefer_ a little pain, huh?”

The Sheriff started to sag, either from the air that was being cut off by Creed’s hand around his neck, or in an effort to ease the man’s brutal intrusion into his body as he pumped his fingers and out of him. Victor growled softly, recognizing that the man was attempting to detach from the experience.

Creed twisted his fingers a little deeper causing Scott to gasp sharply, hips bucking forward spasmodically, a sharp cry of pleasure-pain falling from his lips. Victor grinned and nipped at his neck and shoulders, repeatedly striking the spot until Scott was practically screaming.

“There we go!” Creed laughed, looking out at his subordinates, “There’s the show we were waiting for, eh Sheriff?”

“S-Stop! AHH! Please, Oh God _please!”_

Creed bit him and made him scream louder, continuing to work the man over with painful force until his legs began to buckle and the Sheriff finally hit climax, shouting incoherently.

Only after Creed had worked the last little drops of fluid out of the man did he let him fall to his knees on the floor. He flopped over onto his side, twitching and shuddering, skin shining with sweat. Creed nudged him with the heel of his foot, but the man did little other than flinch faintly, completely out of it.

“Well, that was good for starters,” the outlaw muttered, palming his own straining erection as he looked down at the ruined man on the floor. “But I’m still hungry.” He motioned for one of his men collect the shivering man and follow him.

“Where are you going?” Raven said quickly behind him.

“What’s it matter to you, bitch?”

She pulled a knife from her garter belt and hurled it at him, letting it catch him in the shoulder. Creed grunted and looked down at the neat little blade that was buried in his flesh and yanked it out carelessly, licking the blood off it before tossing it to the floor. “Still mad about Ann Marie, hmm?”

“You get her back,” Raven muttered, marching towards him, unafraid. “I brought you LeBeau and the Sheriff; now you talk to that creep Sinister and get me by daughter _back_ , or I swear to GOD Victor--!”

The drunk laughed her off; “Stop yer fussin’ _woman._ I’m Mayor now, ain’t I? I’ll _talk_ to Sinister, see if he’ll be willing ta trade. But I never said I was giving up LeBeau. Especially not when you didn’t hold up _your_ end of the bargain.”

Her yellow eyes flashed. “That’s not _my fault._ If you wanted Howlett and that little hellspawn back, you should have gone and got them _yourself_ you pathetic drunk! If he wants LeBeau in exchange for Marie, you will give him to him, do you understand!?”

“Or what?”

She picked up her blade and thrust it harshly against the soft spot under his jaw. “Or I’ll _end_ you…piece by piece…so that you _can’t_ regenerate.”

He slapped her down, cracking her head against the floor. “Someone take care of this,” he slurred, looking at his companions again. “I ain’t in the mood to deal with it.”

 

***


	22. Chapter 22

 

***

 

                The heavy veil of grey covered them as they approached the town. The ferals were about a mile ahead of the woman and the girl on horseback, which was Logan’s preference. The two moved along, loping quick and close to the ground, vague shadows in the downpour.

                If anyone saw them entered the town they decided to pretend that they hadn’t. Already Logan could gather why. Even the heavy rain could not wash away Creed’s stench; Tull was rank with it.

                He moved into the sheltered eve of a building, shaking the water from his eyes as he crouched there, breathing hard, deciding his next move. Laura moved behind him, equally soaked and slightly more nervous, unable to remain completely still.

                Logan reached back and touched her arm softly; “Steady darlin’.”

                “He’s close,” she mumbled. “I can practically feel him beside me.”

                “He ain’t though,” her alpha reminded her; “ _I_ am.” He turned to meet her eyes; “You’re gonna be fine. Trust me, and most of all trust yer instincts. They’ll never fail ya. You believe me, don’t ya?”

                She nodded, rapid heartbeat slowing faintly, finally able to settle herself and regain control. The rain began to ease away, going from torrential to a light drizzle. The dark haired mutant moved closer to the edge of the building, gazing across the empty streets. He could see his Inn just a little ways down the road, and already he could see its battered state.

                Several men moved about the porch, heavily armed, apparently guarding the entrances. “Lay odds that Remy and Hank are inside. And so is Creed. Doesn’t leave us much time,” he noted, looking up suddenly as he heard something touch down on the roof above him.

                Both looked up to see Ororo and Jubilee land, the dark woman waving her hand and causing a covering fog to arise from the remaining moisture in the air. Logan nodded in appreciation as he helped Jubilee down.

                “Oh what have they done to it?” she asked, looking on at the Inn, eyes welling in anger at the sight of her former home, now guarded by outlaws and worse.

                “Never you mind it, girl. We’re about to do a little house cleaning.” Logan assured her. He looked to the woman as she ascended beside them. “Thank you, for everything, Storm. But this ain’t yer fight. Best you head back to yer people.”

                She studied him for a moment and then looked on at the Inn. “I will remain, I think. You are dangerously out numbered.”

                Logan chuckled; “Well ya ain’t wrong.”

                He glanced back at the Inn, pondering. “Alright…from the smell of things they got a lot of people inside. Recognize the smell of some of ‘em…which means they’ve got hostages. I’m going to go in first and find Creed. Jubes, stay with Storm and help her get our people out, Laura, you make sure anyone who tries ta stop them thinks twice. Understood?”

                They nodded.

                Logan flexed his thick hands nervously and licked his lips. “Alright then, follow my lead.”

 

**

 

                Both Gambit and Hank were dragged to the upper level of the Inn, guns to their heads. They stopped by the first door along the corridor and Hank was thrust inside, snarling and growling. He fell to the floor, ready to turn and pounce on his assailants, only to receive a riffle butt to the head which made him cry out and fall again.

                “Hank!” Remy cried, but was wrenched away, being pushed farther down the hall as the door was closed on his companion.

 

                The Doctor laid stunned upon the floor for a moment, vision swimming in and out of focus, a painful ringing in his ears. He heard movement from close by and gradually the mutant was able to lift his head, squinting in the direction of the movement.

                To his great amazement he saw another familiar figure lying on the bed, bound and gagged, looking dirty and disheveled.

                “Charles!” Hank gasped, suddenly on his feet despite his dizziness and rushing the bed. Xavier looked at him pitifully, groaning beneath his gag, blood shot eyes looking up in grateful astonishment at his long lost companion.

                Hurriedly Hank undid the tight ropes that bound his wrists and legs, seeing that both were deeply cut into by the offending and coarse material, and then removed the gag as well, revealing deep bruising alongside the man’s battered face.

                “Henry…” Xavier wheezed, reaching for his companion as the big blue furred man pulled him into his arms, “Oh I thought I’d seen the last of you, my friend…”

                Hank was practically beside himself at the sight of his old friend whom he had believed lost. But he kept his composure as best he could, gathering Charles close and looking over his battered body. Xavier had suffered much abuse it seemed, much of his skin baring marks from what seemed to be numerous beatings. But most troubling of all were the state of his legs.

                They were utterly limp and useless and Hank saw that the muscles had atrophied, leaving them thin and boney looking. “What have they done to you?” he breathed, struggling between shock and rage.

                Xavier clutched him closely, face in his fur. “I haven’t been able to feel them in sometime,” he admitted, voice weak and thready. “It happened shortly after they took me; Creed threw me against the wall and something…something snapped.”

                Hank held him tighter, feeling cold rush through him at the thought. He brushed his hand over Xavier’s back, lifting his soiled shirt to see that his back bore even worse bruising. “How long have you been like this?” he asked.

                “Weeks I presume…I’ve lost count of the days.”

                “Why did you not call out for help?” Hank pressed, “Your telepathy could have reached me…”

                Charles hissed in pain and Hank did his best to comfort him. When the man had recovered his breath, he looked up again at his companion. “There is someone; someone new, another Telepath known to them as Mr. Sinister. Somehow, he slipped into town without my notice, and I have paid dearly for that misstep. When Lady Darkholm took me prisoner, he was with her…something he did, some vile formula he gave me…it’s blocked my powers completely.”

                He noted a place on his arm that was pocked with needle punctures; “He administers it twice a day by injection. I have no idea if the effects will wear off or if permanent damage has been done.”

                Beast struggled to contain himself, overwhelmed as he was with the sorry state of the man he loved and now the possibility of an even greater threat than Creed and Darkholm themselves. But Charles drew his attention back by brushing his hand alongside his face, stroking the thick patch of fur at the edge of his jaw. He was smiling up at him, tears in his blackened and bloodshot eyes. “But you’re here now, aren’t you? And that certainly is something.”

                Hank nuzzled the man close; “They won’t touch you again. I’ll get you out of here, I swear it. Logan is coming, I can practically smell him, and when he does I have a feeling Creed will pay dearly for what he’s done.” He purred softly as Xavier continued to stroke his cheek; “Charles, I’m so sorry. For leaving you and allowing this to happen, for never realizing it wasn’t you…and for never having the courage to say that I love you.”

                Xavier moved closer, smiling. “My dearest Henry, I already know.” He kissed him and Hank held him even tighter.

 

**

 

                Meanwhile, Remy found himself dragged to a familiar set of rooms. Shoved inside the apartment that had once belong to Logan and Jubilee, he found himself greeted by further chaos and disorder.

                It was obvious that Creed had taken over the place for himself; his affects were everywhere, clothing, weapons, stolen valuables setting out in plain view. The fiend had taken care to destroy any personal effects of Logan’s, smashing the few pictures in the room and shredding other things like books and clothing.

                Remy was pushed through the main room and into Logan’s bedroom until he was pushed face down on the bed. “Stay put and shut up,” the man behind him muttered; “ya try to get away, I’ll make ya wish you were dead. Understand?”

                “Oui, you monosyllabic imbecile,” Gambit muttered, hearing the man stomp away from him and slam and lock the door behind him. It took only a few seconds for Gambit to work his way out of the crude knots that bound him, but he was careful not to make too much noise.

                Once free, he took a moment to collect his wits. Downstairs he could hear laughter and the sound of Scott Summers suffering. He cringed and held his head, wishing he could get to the Sheriff and stop the torment he was sure Victor was inflicting on him. He’d guessed the villains intent the moment he had requested Scott to remain, and Remy certainly felt for the man, despite the wrongs he had done him. But there was nothing he could do for the man at present; he had to concentrate on the task at hand. He nervously palmed the vial that was concealed within his belt, hoping Raven wasn't wrong about it's capabilities.

                He took stock of the room, looking for anything he could use to defend himself, any weakness he could exploit, any means of escape. Surely Victor wouldn’t wait long before coming to deal with him, and Remy wasn’t sure he could survive another round with the man.

                He quickly collected several small items from the bedside drawer; a spool of thread and needle, a pencil and what looked like a dull carving knife. All would suit him well. He shoved them into his pockets and tried to remain calm.

                Being in this room, without Logan made him feel sick. This was a place of refuge, a place of comfort for him…now Victor had defiled it with his wickedness and his greed. Remy would see him pay, even if it did kill him.

                His thoughts wandered to Logan again and he chanced a glance out the window, watching the foggy roads beyond. He saw nothing, not even passing shadows, yet he sensed that his lover was somewhere close, maybe closer than he realized. All Remy could do was hope that this feeling was true, that Howlett had indeed escaped harm and managed to follow him back here. But he couldn’t count on it, and he wasn’t about to leave that much up to fate.

                _“They couldn’t keep you down long, could they?”_

                Remy startled, hearing the voice plain as day, but not with his ears. The sound had come from inside his own head. He turned, ready to charge one of the objects in his pocket and attack, only to find himself staring at a strange man who had soundlessly entered the little room.

                He wore a long red coat, and his inky black hair was slicked down past his shoulders. He had narrow, neatly groomed goatee, which made his narrow face look longer, and Remy noted that his skin had an odd greyish pallor to it that made him look less than human. The man regarded him with a cold, calculating stare that sent chills up the Cajun’s spine. He felt he’d seen him somewhere before, but he couldn’t put his finger on when or where exactly, or if the man was a image from a nightmare he’d once had.

                The stranger smiled coldly, seeming to read Remy’s thoughts and rested his hands on his bright black walking stick, palms clutched over the diamond studded head of it. “The LeBeau boy…” the man mused, looking him and down. “My, you certainly did fill out. Somehow this hard life has agreed with you. Remarkable, really. You were so frail compared to your brother.”

                Gambit stood very still, eyes narrowed, mouth in a hard line. “So…” he said quietly. “Mon Pere runs you out of town on a rail, and you show up here, some twenty odd years later? Life, she is a funny t’ing, don’t you t’ink so, Doctor Essex?”

                The man looked pleased. “You _do_ remember me. How sweet.” His eyes flickered to Remy’s right hand, which had snaked into his pocket.

                “You do in fact have time to throw that knife at me, my friend. But, as you guessed, when you do the others shall come in here and render you quite implacable of defending yourself from the _real_ threat. And you don’t want that, do you precious boy?” the telepath asked with a placid grin.

                “Dunno, might be worth it.” Remy spat, though he was clearly lying. He tried to relax, sitting back on the old quilt upon the bed, glad Creed hand’t ruined it. Despite his absence it still smelled like Logan. “So what’s a great big snake in de grass like yerself doin’ in a little town like Tull?”

                “A wonderful question. I had arranged to receive a purchase of mine here sometime ago, but…it seems the transaction was _bungled_ by your lot.”

                Remy raised an eyebrow in surprise. “So…you were Laura’s husband to be eh? Shouldn’t surprise me; de only way you could ever get a woman _would_ be by buying her.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully; “Maybe my memories getting’ a bit hazy, but as I recall, you never had much interest in de fairer sex. Too interested in young boys as I recall…”

                “My interest in you and your brother was never sexual, Mr. LeBeau. It was strictly medical; scientific. You see, that’s what I am, Remy. A scientist; a visionary.”

                “You a sick freak, dats what you are.” Gambit replied. He smirked; “So what made you stay around for den? Sure, Tull’s full of people of mutants for you to probe and experiment on. Dat don’t surprise me, I guess. But you working wit Creed and Lady Darkholm…dat _is_ interesting.”

                “Happenstance only, I assure you.” The Doctor answered, moving around Gambit to look out the window himself, sniffing sourly at the damp outside. “A means to an end; that’s all any of these people are. Small, single minded, incapable of abstract thought. But…they do possess some quite fascinating abilities, which I have been keen to study.” He smiled at the young man; “I would have enjoyed catching up with you sooner, Remy. Since you also went to the trouble of denying me my purchase, I’ve had to seek other specimens to further my research.”

                Remy tensed at the way he spoke, chilled by it. The man moved back towards the door and opened it, motioning Remy to follow. Cautiously the Cajun picked himself up and walked after him, hands buried in his pockets, ready to defend.

                They stepped out into the main room, ignoring the man posted at the door, his gun at the ready, and moved towards the second bedroom. Essex opened the door and bid Remy to look inside. The Cajun hesitated, afraid to.

                Holding his breath, he stepped a little closer and peeked through the threshold. On the bed was Ann Marie, huddled in a miserable naked ball, sobbing and muttering nonsense to herself. Remy shouted and rushed forward, falling beside her on the bed. He grabbed her without thinking and immediately felt the pull of her powers draining him.

                He cried out and reeled back before the affects were able to take hold, leaving him only slightly stunned rather than dangerously drained.

                “Marie! Marie!” Shaking the haze from his head, he gathered the quilts underneath her and wrapped them around her so he could get close without touching her skin directly. “Cherie!? Talk to me, sil vous plait, say anyt’ing, anyt’ing at all!”

                She only continued to cry and ramble, not seeming to be aware of him at all even though he held her and looked her squarely in the eye. Her eyes were dim now though, clouded and unseeing, filled with tears.

                Remy smoothed down her greasy unwashed hair and kissed it before looking menacingly back at Essex. “You bastard! What do you do to her?!”

                “Physically, she’s fine. But she’s trapped in a delusion of my own making,” he explained. “I’m afraid it was the only way I could control her outbursts; sedatives made her useless to me, but I am able to bring her in and out of reality so much easier this way. She proved a rather fortuitous specimen; her powers have helped me develop my elixir; which I believe you have concealed in your belt.” He smirked at the other man's shocked face. "If you do manage to use it on Creed, I will be quite interested in the results."

               "Then you'll let her go? Once you know if your poison works?"

               "Oh goodness no!" Sinister laughed. "This is just the beginning, Remy! I'm this close to an actual _cure_ for those of our species with less than favorable talents. We are not all as blessed as _you_ my boy."

               Remy glared at him. “You can't leave her like this! You’ll drive her mad! You stop dis, you let her go--!”

                “Or what?” it was Creed’s voice snarling behind them then. He appeared in the doorway, looking hungry and lustful, reeking of sweat and sex. Remy clenched his jaw tightly enough to make his teeth ache.

                Essex turned to him distastefully; “Creed…I trust you’re quite finished with the Sheriff.” He sniffed.

                Victor growled low in his throat and smirked; “Suppose I am. He’s ripe for whatever little mind game ya wanna play with ‘im. Try not ta kill im, though. He was… _fun_.”

                Essex rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, I shall see if there’s anything I glean from him after what you’ve put him through. It is very taxing, you realize, dealing with your broken toys. I need healthy specimens; as we agreed?”

                “Ya got the girl and ya got Xavier, and now ya got the Sheriff and his furry blue pal. More than enough to keep ya occupied a while longer. What more ya want?” he muttered drunkenly in reply.

                Creed grunted and pushed past him, reaching for Gambit and dragging him away from Rogue, leaving the girl as she was on the bed. Remy made to attack him but Victor had him by the nape of the neck and it would take only a flick of his wrist to snap it.

                “He’ll do quite nicely,” Essex said then, making Creed paused. The golden haired feral turned on him with a murderous gaze.

                “Lebeau was never part of the bargain. Anyone who told ya different is touched in the head; likely by _you._ ” He looked back at Remy, and if LeBeau didn’t know any better, he would have sworn the expression on the killers face was almost _tender._ “Ya ain’t getting’ this one, _Sinister_. No sir. Ya’d waste him with all yer mind games and weird medical nonsense. He’s got much better talents.” He turned, dragging the man along side him and pushed him through the door, glaring back at the scientist.

                “And don’t even think about tryin’ ta change my mind…ya been in there…ya seen for yourself what a _pretty_ place it is.”

                “Indeed, Mr. Creed. Indeed.”

 

**

 

                Logan made his way towards the front entrance of the Inn, a lone figure walking the otherwise abandoned streets. The drunken sentries on the porch stirred at his presence, looking up in vague disbelief as the man walked steadily towards them, eyes glaring ahead.

                “Hey—hey you!” One of the men called, fumbling for his riffle that was leaning against the wall. He managed to grab it up and aim it, somewhat unsteadily at the approaching stranger, who paused just a few feet from the steps. “Hey, what’s the matter with you, mister, ya stupid? No one comes near this place unless Mayor Creed says so!”

                “That so?” Logan asked, eyes leveled coolly at him.

                The other men began to stir as well, five of them in all, and came to observe the disturbance, gathering close to the front entrance and abandoning their other posts.

                “Yeah _'that’s so_!’” the younger man mocked, squinting into his cross-hairs. “Now go on, g _et!_ Less you want me ta shoot ya right here!”

                “You go on ahead, boy.” The dark haired man answered, stepping forward again. “I’ve come ta take back what’s mine.” The quivering youth blinked in surprise for a moment, then fired off a shot which cracked across the air. The shot missed and Logan kept moving.

                The kid fired again and struck him squarely in the chest as he climbed the steps. The other man grunted as the bullet ripped through him, but didn’t fall. Instead he reached out and grabbed the barrel of the gun and twisted it in his hand, bending it like putty.

                The man in front of him trembled, mouth hanging open in astonishment. Logan pulled the gun away, tossing it aside and grabbed the gap-toothed toady by the front of his shirt and dragged him forward. “Ya might want to tell yer little friends to back off, or I’ll be doing the same thing to yer scrawny little necks.”

                Before the man had a chance to reply, someone else was rushing him with a knife, trying to stab him. Logan turned, unsheathing the claws of his free hand and slashed at the assailant, sending him to the ground as others came forward as well, some with knives and some with guns.

                The feral man threw the boy aside as he jumped into the fray, clawed fist flying and teeth bared. He cut through them quickly, injuring all of them but leaving them alive. When the last one fell he turned back to the door and pushed his way inside.

                Upon entering he was greeted by the sound of a dozen metallic clicks as a room full of armed men raised their weapons warily at him. Logan grinned, unsheathing both sets of claws. “Anyone who wants to walk away better do so now,” he stated. A few of the men hesitated nervously. One of the bigger ones, who Logan didn’t recognize moved a little closer, riffle pointed at Logan’s face.

                “Yer either very brave or very stupid, mister. What’s yer business here?”

                “This is _my_ Inn.” The dark haired mutant answered. “And yer all trespassin’.” He leveled his gaze at the big thug, “Where’s Creed?”

                The man laughed and cocked his gun. “You won’t need to worry about it in a second—“

                He turned to fire but Logan ducked and rushed him, ramming the blunt side of his claws against the man’s gut, knocking the air out of him before kicking his legs out from under him and sending him to the floor with his blades thrust under his chin. “Last time I ask you _nicely_ , bub. _Where’s Creed?!_ ”

                Someone jumped on him from behind, wrapping their arms around his neck and yanking him backwards. Logan grunted and got his assailant under his biceps and flipped him up and over his head, sending him crashing into a table, which collapsed under his weight. More came at him then, guns firing, bullets flying everywhere.

                Logan howled and charged them, barely bothering to dodge any of the rounds that came at him, healing nearly as quickly as he was wounded, much to the fear and amazement of his attackers. The darkened saloon quickly began hazy with gun smoke, the hot air becoming permeated with the scent of blood and sweat.

               

**

 

                With all the attention drawn to the front entrance, it was no problem for Jubilee and the other two women to make their way to the back entrance of the Inn which lead into the service corridor and kitchens.

                They could hear the growing commotion outside and the increasingly distressed mutterings of those who were currently occupying the rooms beyond. Jubilee lead the way, Laura and the woman named Storm moving at her back.

                Jubilation swallowed nervously, hearing rushing footsteps above them as more people moved from the upper levels of the building to observe the growing chaos below. She watched the shadow of men she’d never seen before rush along the walls, hearing the thud of their boots and the clatter of their guns as they attempted to load them. She knew she shouldn’t be worried for Logan; the man would be fine, regardless of what punishment these drunks dealt out. But the idea that these people were in their home, defiling their things, hurting their friends…

                Faint sparks flickered at her fingers as she felt her rage and anxiety grow inside her, and Laura put a hand lightly upon her arm.

                “I’m alright,” she mumbled. “But we’ve got to find where Remy and the others are. Can you smell them?”

                Laura nodded; “Upstairs. But there’s something else…” she moved past Jubilee, creeping along towards the kitchens. She paused outside the doorway, her own claws appearing just past her knuckles as she crouched, ready to attack.

                Jubilee strained to hear beside her, but none of the sounds she heard seemed to be coming from the kitchen itself. “What is it?”

                Laura grunted faintly and crept inside, making her way quickly through the room towards the back corner where the doors leading down into the root cellar were. Jubilee followed her while Storm remained outside, guarding the door.

                To their great shock they found that the doors of the cellar had been bound with chains and a heavy lock. “What the hell? Why would--?” Jubilee turned away nervously as she heard the conflict in the saloon escalate, hearing Logan’s tell-tale shout of rage followed by volleys of gunfire.

                Laura, however, ignored the sounds of battle, using her claws to sever the chains that bound the cellar door, throwing the wooden doors wide and stepping down into the darkened tunnel below. At once she could see several huddled bodies on the floor below, all dirty and frightened looking.

                “Jubilee?”

                The short haired girl turned back in shock and found herself looking down at the haggard and beaten face of Bobby Drake. “Bobby!” she reached for the man as Laura helped him up the ladder and wrapped her arms around the young Ranch hand tightly. “Oh my God, are you alright?!”

                The young man laughed in relief and squeezed her tightly before pulling away, looking back as Laura helped the others out of the tunnel. “Didn’t think we’d ever get out of there in one piece! Oh Jubes, we thought you were gone for good!”

                He looked up in surprise as he heard Logan shout, followed by the sound of furniture breaking and other men screaming. “Is that Mr. Howlett?”

                “Yep,” she grinned. “We’re about to run these bums out of here! Do you think you can help us find the others?”

                Bobby nodded though he looked a bit fragile. “Anything for you, Jubes.”

                There was a loud crash then as someone came flying through the swinging door that lead into the back of the bar. The unfortunate man crashed to the ground, moaning and barely conscious as Logan stalked after him. “That’s for using up my good whiskey,” he spat, nudging the downed outlaw with his boot, wiping blood from his face with the back of his palm.

                He looked up and saw the girls along with Bobby and the other captives emerging from the cellar. “Any sign of Remy or Hank?”

                “Upstairs,” Laura said quickly, “I can smell them.”

                Logan nodded and moved forward, “Good job, darlin’. Need you to get these people to safety, take ‘em someplace safe and wait for me, alright?”

                She nodded nervously then shouted in surprise, raising her hand and firing a blast of sparks over his shoulder that sent their surprise attacker rolling back. Logan grinned and squeezed her shoulder; “That’s my girl. Now go on, I’ll take care of this.”

                “Logan,” Laura spoke suddenly, “The Sheriff is down here.”

                The Inn Keeper moved past the others, peering into the cellar at the crumpled figure on the dirt floor below. Logan ascended the steps in quick bounds, coming to crouch next to the man on the ground, turning him over, recognizing Victor’s stench on the man.

                Scott moaned quietly as the other man bent over him, brows knit together in pain and confusion. Logan saw at once that the man was missing his customary goggles. “Be still, Sheriff. Don’t open your eyes.”

                “Logan?”

                “Yeah. Hush now, you look like hell.” The Inn Keeper chided him quietly, tearing a swath of fabric from his already battered shirt to make a blindfold for the man below him. Scott’s arm came up and latched onto his arm desperately, making him blink in surprise.

                “Logan, I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…I didn’t know…I didn’t know what he was.”

                “Nevermind it now, Sheriff. Just be grateful ya came out in one piece.” He said, lifting the man and carrying him out the cellar, handing him off to Bobby and Laura, who helped support the man between the two of them.

                “You have to find LeBeau, before Creed gets to him…if he hasn’t already.” Scott panted then. Logan stiffened at the thought and nodded, turning to the door where Ororo was waiting.

                “See that they get out of here safely.”

                “And what of you?”

                Logan let his claws out again, “I’ve got a debt to settle. Whatever you hear, keep the girls away. It’s bound to get bloody.”

                The woman nodded as Logan departed, heading towards the stairs, following Remy’s scent, heart thumping in his ears, moving swift and silent along the corridors.

 

**

 

                Creed shoved Gambit into the bedroom, watching as the man fell backwards upon the mattress, glaring up at him, ready to fight.

                The blonde feral’s eyes were glassy from too much whiskey and dark with lust. He licked his lips as he looked at the lanky man below him, breathing in the familiar scent of his fear and anger as he glared back at him with those demon eyes.

                “Well…here we are again, eh Cajun?” he asked softly. “This town must be full of ghosts, cause seems like everyone I thought I put six feet under seems ta keep popping up. Must be something in the water.” He chuckled.

                Remy remained silently staring at him, fists knotted in the bed sheets, tense like a wire as Victor moved in closer, reaching out a hand to twist a lock of Remy’s coppery hair between his thick clawed fingers. “Nothing to say to yer old pal?”

                LeBeau looked up at him seriously, red eyes gleaming. “I’m going to kill you, Creed.”

                Victor laughed at him, dragging the shorter man up against him, “Not the first time ye’ve told me that, sweetheart.” He leaned closer, shoving his nose in Gambit’s hair and breathing deep, feeling the man cringe at the contact. But he kept him in place with one hand firmly on the back of his neck, nails pressing against his soft tan skin, ready to puncture and tear.

                He tilted Remy’s head back, exposing the line of his neck and dipped his head down to sweep his tongue along the healing scar he’d left across the man’s throat. “Fate must have somethin’ in mind for us, Cajun, the way it keeps throwing us together. I’m getting’ sick of this town…even sicker of Raven and her _attitude_. How’s about you and I cut and run? See what trouble we can get into further down the line? Train will be leavin’ tonight.”

                Gambit cringed, feeling revulsion creep up his spine. But he knew he had to keep his head, remain calm and not play his hand too soon. Creed was heavily intoxicated, and that gave him a rare opportunity. Normally a few drinks would make Creed meaner than usual, making him lash out at anything in front of him. But this level of intoxication made him oddly emotional, almost sentimental. But of course, he was just as dangerous if his authority or prowess was questioned.

                “Tempting offer,” Remy mumbled, letting the man paw and smell him, pulling him out of his coat and fumbling with is belt. He didn’t notice the knife that was tucked into the palm of Remy’s hand. “But what are you going to offer to make me change my mind?”

                Victor laughed softly against his skin and moved further down the Cajun’s body, rubbing his palm roughly against the man’s groin in the same possessive way he had so many times in the past. Exhaling a stuttering breath, Remy did his best to close himself off to the mistreatment and not provoke Creed’s anger. Not yet, not yet.

                Remy closed his eyes and kept still as he felt Victor guide him back onto the bed, kneeling in front of him, licking and biting his way down LeBeau’s sweaty skin as he pulled him out of his pants, nails scratching down his thighs. “Ye should be grateful I’m feeling generous today, LeBeau. You left me wantin’, trading me in for that little runt and all his sweet talk. But he couldn’t protect ya, could he?”

                “Non,” Remy whispered, pushing his focus away from the panic that was crawling up his throat, making him want to fight and run. Victor was too alert, to ready to pounce. He had to bid his time. He felt the handle of the blade biting into his palm, keeping it tucked away while his other hand was pinned beneath Creed’s thick palm in its usual sign of submission.

                The drunk could taste his victim’s rising heart rate and the adrenaline in his sweat as he licked and scraped his teeth down the hard lines of his torso before dropping his head between the man’s thighs, licking and teasing his half-willing erection, earning a little whimper from the other man. Victor wrapped his hand around him and squeezed, feeling the warm skin thicken and harden in his hand as he stroked him roughly. “I’m better than him.” He said, more to himself than to Remy. “I’ll show you…”

                Remy twisted faintly, trying to scoot away, but Victor squeezed his wrist harshly and he was still again. He glanced up at him with those molten yellow eyes; “You don’t really want someone who can protect ya though, do ya, Cajun? Yer not the type who likes to be safe and cozy. You need someone to remind ya of where yer place is. That’s why you’ll always come back to me, LeBeau. You need a master, not a lover.”

                Remy sunk his teeth into his lower lip as Creed lowered his head again and took him into his mouth fully, scraping his fangs lightly along the delicate skin and emitting a low deep rumble that shocked the younger man and made him gasp, hips rising reflexively, thrusting into Victor’s mouth. Creed twisted his wrist and moved his other hand around to grab Remy’s thigh, keeping his legs spread and helping to control his movements.

                The redhead rasped and squirmed, feeling the vibrations ripple across his skin over and over again while Creed’s tongue swirled around and lapped and sucked him, making it hard for Gambit to form a coherent thought for a time.

                The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming, but no matter how Remy tried to pull back, to catch his breath, Creed kept him in place, doubling his efforts for every resistance he felt. Remy moaned loudly, hips stuttering, breathing raggedly as Victor brought him painfully close to the edge.

                He felt Creed’s clawed fingers move further inward along his thigh and knew exactly what he intended to do next. Remy lifted his free hand, brushing his fingers lightly over Creed’s dirty yellow hair in what might have been a gesture of tenderness…

                Creed grinned, sucking harder and earning a shudder and long gasp from the man beneath him as he forced an orgasm out of him, swallowing quickly before pulling back and biting Remy’s thigh angrily for cumming too soon.

                Gambit hissed, but didn’t try to pull away or beg for forgiveness as he usually did. Instead, he grinned up at the man, eyes bright and almost hellish looking as he raised his only free hand and stabbed the knife down into Creed’s back.

                Victor howled at the sudden pain and tore at the offending object as Remy kicked him backwards, flipping backward onto the bed, and reaching for the rest of his projectiles. Victor plucked the knife from his back and flung it into the wall, snarling and dripping with blood from the already healing wound. “YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT!”

                Gambit peppered him with exploding projectiles, forcing the man back against the wall as the kinetic explosions tore and burned through his flesh and bone, rendering him a raw and bloody mess. Finally the Cajun grabbed the vile from his belt and flung it at Creed's battered figure, letting it shatter across his face. The liquid seemed to burn the feral, who screamed and clawed at his face, trying to wipe it away. The pain only served to fuel the man’s volatile rage.

                He sprang back at Remy, claws flying. Gambit was quick, avoiding blows narrowly as he leapt and sprang across the ruined room, trying to make his way back to the door and get to Ann Marie. But Victor was bigger, faster, and incensed by blood.

                He pounced managed to grab hold of Remy, thrusting him brutally against the window, which shattered behind him. The only thing that kept the Cajun from falling was the thin pane of wood that was already cracking under the abuse, and Victor’s cruel hand around his neck, dangling him off the floor.

                “How many times do I have ta teach ya this lesson, LeBeau?! You _don’t_ say _no_ to _me!!”_

He seemed to notice then that wounds upon his skin were not closing at their usual rate, and the pain was lingering. He blinked in confusion, seeing the same stunned expression mirrored in his victim's face. "What was that shit? What did you do?" he barked.

                Remy gave him a painful smirk; "Dulled your edge it seems, M'sieur..." he muttered and Creed choked him harder for the remark.

               "You get to die _slowly_ this time." he snarled. He started to squeeze, to twist and Remy winced, waiting to hear his spine snap.

                _SINKT!_

                Victor suddenly made a gurgling sound, body twisting slightly. Gambit opened his eyes and found that the big feral had been impaled on a set of claws, which were currently jutting and twisting through his rib cage.

                Logan stood behind him, his other arm circled around Victor’s neck, yanking him back against him even as he stabbed him. _“Drop him!”_ he barked, forcing his claws in deeper.

                Creed’s hand relinquished its grip on Remy’s throat and the lanky man dropped to the floor, quickly rolling clear. Logan retracted his claws and kicked Creed forward, sending him tumbling through the broken window, flipping out onto the roof and vanishing from sight.

                Howlett moved forward, bending beside Remy and searching him for injury. “Are you--?”

                Gambit grabbed him and kissed him fiercely before pulling back breathlessly and nodding; “Your timing is impeccable mon cher! But I t’ink we need to go.”

                Logan nodded, pulling him to his feet and moving swiftly towards the door. Remy saw the damage the other man had wrought outside, seeing the guard lying in a heap by the broken in door. But there was no sign of Mr. Sinister.

                The Inn Keeper made for the hall, but Remy turned and darted into Jubilee’s room, returning a few moments later with a young woman in his arms. Logan recognized her as the young Darkholm girl and looked to his lover in surprise. “She in a bad way, need to get her to a doctor.”

                Logan nodded and ushered them through the door. There was a roar and a shout, followed by a scream as one of Creed’s men came flying through a doorway, hitting the stair rail before flipping up and over it, tumbling the floor far below with a deafening crash.

                They stood blinking in the aftermath as Hank emerged from the threshold, carrying Xavier in his arms.

                “Doc?”

                The blue-furred mutant looked up at them, looking a little wild and harried. “Gentlemen! So good to see you! And my apologies that you had to see that, erm, _brutish_ display.”

                “He had it comin’,” Logan nodded, rushing forward and motioning them to follow, claws at the ready. They descended the first flight of stairs at trot, seeing that quite a brawl had broken out below as more of Creed’s followers attempted to defend their position against now rioting townsfolk.

                Bobby and Laura were in the middle of the fray that filled the saloon, dealing out punishment to any of Creed’s thugs who attempted to get close or tried to stop the other towns people from helping those who had been held hostage within the Inn.

                Logan vaulted down to join them, driving the drunken thugs away and cutting down those who tried to stop him. “Where’s Jubilee?” he shouted to Laura.

                “She and Storm took the Sheriff and the others outside!” the young woman called back. Hank was already lumbering past him, “I shall tend to the injured,” he called to Logan, making his way towards the back entrance with Charles.

                Remy made to follow when he heard Raven call out to him. He turned to see the woman sprinting across the ruined room, rushing to her daughter’s side. Carefully LeBeau handed the girl over to her; “Best get out of here, both of you.” He said to her.

                The yellow eyed woman looked back at him; “What do you want in exchange?”

                “That I never have to see your face again, d’accord?” he grunted. The woman nodded and hurried away, Gambit covering her escape. He caught Logan looking back at him, somewhat surprised, but the matter was quickly brushed aside when they heard a thunderous crash followed by a hail of glass and wood splinters flying across the barroom floor.

                Creed had come crashing through the window that looked out at the southern street and was now bounding on all fours towards Logan, who turned with blades flashing, ready to meet him.

                The two collided with a howl, the force of Creed’s heavy body knocking Logan back several feet, sending them crashing against the bar back. The shelves of liquor snapped and tumbled, sending bottles breaking everywhere and filling gun-smoke filled room with the smell of alcohol.

                Creed and Howlett grappled with one another, stabbing, clawing, biting and punching, each dealing the other a blow that was more vicious than the last. Blood painted the floor boards and the bar top, but neither feral would relent. Not until the other was finally finished.

                “You should have left me be, Victor!” Logan bellowed, hacking at the man, tearing flesh from bone and meeting his enemy blow for blow, fist, tooth and claw.

                “You walked away from me once, runt—you really think I’d let you do it again!?” Victor howled back, a hellish grin on his face. “You and me, Wolverine, it’s how it was always meant to end! The two of us tearing each other’s guts out until only one’s left!” He slashed at Logan with his claws, catching him across the chest and opening a large bloody wound before grabbing the smaller man’s arm and hurling him body across a table top, smashing the wood to splinters and breaking bone. “I’m gonna _kill_ ya this time, Logan! Rip yer heart out and feed it to yer little pups! Then I’m gonna work my way through them all, LeBeau, the little Chinese brat and that feral bitch…and they’re gonna know it was cause _you_ couldn’t protect ‘em!”

                Logan screamed and slashed Victor’s hand, severing it completely and watching as blood spurted from the wound, making the bigger man howl.

                “Yer gonna have hard time doin’ that without any hands—or a head!”

                The remaining people within the bar fled from the battle, darting into the streets to escape the violence. Unable to assist his lover, Gambit busied himself with clearing the room. He heard Bobby cry out and turned to see the young ranch hand fall to the ground, shedding his ice form, clutching his leg.

                He’d taken a bullet from somewhere, and Laura turned to help him as Gambit traced the source and found that Sinister had made himself known again, fleeing along the stairwell above the saloon, a brief case tucked under his arm. Gambit grabbed the nearest small discarded object, which was a shot glass, and hurled it towards the man, the kinetic energy gathering around it until it exploded on contact.

                Sinister bellowed and hit the floor, dropping his bag. Remy vaulted the stairs in nimble leaps until he came to land beside the fallen man, who was scrambling the save the contents of his briefcase. Remy spotted several loose vials of some strange luminous gold liquid and caught one under the toe of his boot as Sinister reached for it.

                “Give it here, boy,” the man on the floor rasped. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

                “If you want it, I know it ain’t not’ing but trouble.” Remy answered, stomping on the vile and letting crush beneath his sole.

                “My research!! You fool, that was _months_ of work!” Sinister shouted in dismay as Remy dragged him up from the floor, shaking him.

                “You got bigger problems den a couple of shiny vials—“ He felt the man thrust a gun into his ribs then, glaring at him with crazed eyes.

                “As do _you_ my unfortunate friend.”

                But Gambit wasn’t nearly defeated looking as he should have been. Instead he simply put his hand over the barrel of the gun and pushed Sinister back. “You played your hand too soon, mon ami.”

               The scientist looked down in confusion, only to see that the gun was beginning to glow hot and brilliantly. He threw it away with a cry, sending it clattering below. It struck the ground with a pop and flash, igniting the spilled liquor and sending flames racing across the floor. Essex reached for the briefcase but Remy kicked it away, sending it hurling down into the flames below, where it exploded, filling the room with strange green smoke that billowed over Logan and Creed.

               _"NO!"_ Sinister screeched. Gambit tried to grab him, but the climbing flames separated them, making it difficult for Remy to see or breathe in the heated, acrid air.

               Sinister knocked past him and fled, and the Cajun let him go, his attentions turned to those who remained below. He leapt over the railing and crashed to the floor, rolling away from the flames as Victor and Logan continued to tear the Inn and themselves apart, heedless of the growing fire.

               Remy darted towards where Laura stood with Bobby, trying to stem the bleeding from the young man’s wound with her hands. “Follow me, petite! We have to get out of here before dis whole place goes!” He bent and lifted Bobby, rushing towards the door with Laura at his heels.

             They hesitated at the entrance, watching the flames begin to lick up the walls, black smoke filling the cavernous room. “LOGAN!” Remy shouted back at him.

             But Logan seemed lost to the beast inside him, taken over by the haze of blood-lust and the heat of battle. He had gained the upper hand over Creed, beating the battered and blood soaked mutant back further and further into the depths of the room as fire surrounded them.

            Remy looked up in fear, hearing the beams above them begin to creak and moan as they were rendered to tinder by the flames. He handed Bobby to Laura; “Get him outta here, petite! Hurry!”

            Bowing his head he rushed back into the burning building, narrowly dodging burning debris as it fell from above. “Logan! _Logan!”_

            The black haired man was standing over Creed’s fallen figure, elbow deep in blood, having taken many severe wounds from the larger man who lay semi-conscious beneath him, still grinning despite the fact that his face was in shredded tatters.

            Remy came up behind Howlett and wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s frame, dragging him backwards. “We got to go, cher! You’ll die in here!”

            Logan tried to break free, still lost in the moment until he registered Remy’s scent among the haze of blood and smoke and felt the man’s frame pressed so close to his. Logan came back to himself, slightly shaken for the experience and turned to his lover just into time to pull him aside as part of the ceiling began to collapse on them.

            Remy choked on the smoke and the overwhelming heat, pulling Logan along as they stumbled through the blackened room for an exit, hearing Jubilee and Hank screaming for them from outside. Logan glanced back at Creed, pausing to reach back for him, but Remy dragged him on.

           They rushed for the door, embers falling upon them, singing hair and skin, fumbling for fresh air and daylight. A hand came through the blackness and found them. It was Laura’s.

           Remy latched onto it as she lead them forward until they stumbled onto the porch, choking on smoke, ashes clinging to hair and skin, singed and burned.

          They staggered into the street, the young woman doing her best to smother out any burning embers that had attached to their clothing as they fell wheezing and choking upon the dirt road. Dr. McCoy was beside them at once, followed by Jubilee and Storm.

          The woman lifted her hands from the sky and summoned a heavy rain, which doused the flaming building and slowly began to smother the fire raging inside, great billows of black smoke rising from the shattered flame-licked windows.

          But despite Ororo’s efforts, the Inn could not withstand the damage that had been done at it’s core, and they all watched in rapt wonder and dismay as it collapsed inward on itself, raising a cloud of dust and debris that rippled across the crowded street.

         Logan slumped against Remy, trying to catch his breath, massive wounds that covered his body sealing and fading before their eyes, though they seemed to be slowed by the dirt and ash that covered his skin. His eyes were glassy as he watched the home he’d built with his bare hands come down in front of him.

         Jubilee appeared beside him, her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder, unable to watch. Logan hugged her hard, unable to look away. “It’s alright darlin’…it’s just _things_. Things don’t matter.”

        Remy’s hands came around him, squeezing gently, looking down at his lover with remorse. Logan stroked his hand and nodded, slowly gathering himself and Jubilee as the remainder of the town gathered in the streets to watch the old Inn burn.

       “What happened to Creed?” Laura asked.

        Logan’s eyes fixed on the collapsed doorway and the flames that were still creeping from the smoldering insides.

        “Nevermind it now, petite,” Remy said quietly, turning their attention away. “He won’t be troublin’ us no more.”

 

***


	23. Chapter 23

 

 

                Hours later as dusk crept over Tull’s barren landscape. Those injured in the battle at the saloon had been taken to the hospital, where Hank quickly set to work attending their many various injuries. The remaining accomplices of Creed’s short but potent reign of terror were also rounded up and boarded in the town’s jail, looked after by Scott’s deputies, while the Sheriff himself was being cared for and looked after by Emma Frost.

                It would take days to sort out all the details and bring charges against the guilty. Already Charles had given Logan, Remy and Hank a full pardon and had made arrangements for the reconstruction of Logan’s Inn.

                For the time being, Logan and the others were being put up in the Mayor’s house, which thankfully had remained largely intact.

                Remy was sprawled out in the large claw foot tub, head dropped back against the porcelain rim, letting the steaming water sooth his aching muscles. Though he had escaped the battle largely unscathed, he still felt as though he couldn’t shed himself of Victor’s touch and scent on his skin.

                He looked up as he heard the door open and his ruby eyes slid towards the stout figure that entered the room. Logan moved towards him, as Remy reached up to greet him and pull him close, brushing his lips warmly against his.

                “Mon coeur,” the Cajun mumbled warmly. “How are you?”

                Logan looked at him lovingly, brushing his fingers through the man’s wet hair. There wasn’t a mark left on him to testify to the day’s earlier conflict, only a heaviness in his being and new sort of sadness in his bright blue eyes. “I’m with you; I’m fine.” He answered, kissing the man’s forehead.

                Remy chuckled softly, lifting himself reluctantly from the tub as Logan handed him a towel from the hook above him. “And de girls? How are dey?”

                “Asleep now,” Logan answered, lingering close to the lanky man who dressed himself somewhat self-consciously. His lover was not as lucky as he was, he would wear his marks for days. He recognized the deep purple ones around his wrist, and hip and the little scrapes that marred the inside of his pale thigh.

                The Cajun sucked his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment as he pulled on a loose pair of trousers and turned to look at his lover. “I keep scrubbing, yet never seem ta get clean. Ya know what I mean, cher?”

                Logan nodded and drew him close, holding him tightly for a moment before taking his hand and guiding him away from the tub and towards the bed, turning the lamps down low as they both settled on the mattress, pulling the blankets around them to ward off the chill.

                They curled around each other beneath the blankets, resting face to face, Logan breathing in the smell of soap on Remy’s freshly washed skin and feeling the warmth of his body heat. But he couldn’t ignore the way the way his lover’s eyes struggled to meet his, or the hint of shame he saw there. Logan moved in closer, his nose brushing against the Cajun’s, looking up to meet his eyes. “You brought me back when I was lost,” he said quietly. “Both times you put yourself in danger, just to keep me and mine safe. If you hadn’t distracted Creed, I’m sure the Sheriff would be dead. If you hadn’t stopped me back there…I would have left Jubilee and Laura all alone in the world.”

                Remy smiled ruefully, “Well, I have to admit I had my own selfish reasons for not wanting dat.” He scratched his fingers through Logan’s thick sideburn. “Tried life wit’out you, cher. It’s not anyt’ing I’d try twice. Do anyt’ing to keep you and dose girls safe…”

                He started to look away but Logan turned his cheek and looked at him seriously; “Stop lookin’ at yerself through _his_ eyes. Yer so much more than what he made you, Remy. I wish you could see yourself how _I_ see you…” He laid his head against Remy’s. “Ya can feel it, can’t ya?”

                Gambit nodded faintly, feeling Logan’s love nearly overwhelm him. “We stay together now, cher? No more wandering, no more wantin’?”

                Logan pulled him closer, pressing flush against him and kissed him deeply. They clung to each other, needing the closeness, the reassurance, the familiarity. Little by little Remy curled into the nook of his neck and shoulder and fell asleep. Logan rested his head on top of the other man’s and listened to the softness of his breath and watching the flickers of his eyelids as he dreamed.

               The house around them fell into a deep, comfortable quiet, the only sound being Hank’s quiet shuffling here and there as he checked on Charles after returning from the hospital. Though his tired mind and body craved a long dark sleep, Logan found himself unable to succumb.

               They had only begun to clear the wreckage of the old Inn; but there was no sign of Creed’s body. It seemed plausible that Creed had been caught in the inferno and burnt down to his very bones; rendering him unable to regenerate.

             Logan wanted to believe this was the case, but his instincts told him that this was not. Finally the nagging feeling deep within his bones got the better of him. He slid out from Remy’s sleeping figure, kissing the man softly before slipping out of the room.

He made his way out into the night, bracing himself against the bitter cold wind that blew. He wandered through the quiet town, eyes searching the dark for any sign of his adversary. Eventually he came to the wreckage of his former home and stood for a time, looking at the still smoking remains.

He lifted his nose to the wind, but could detect nothing but the smell of wet, burned wood and cold wind.

Logan sighed deeply, watching his breath swirl in front of him and remembered his words to Remy. He needed to stop chasing ghosts from his past and focus on his future. If even Creed had survived; surely he would have fled. Logan shouldn’t follow him; it would be exactly what the beast wanted. He wanted that control, that mastery over Logan’s thoughts and desires. He wasn’t going to get it; not ever again.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat he turned away, putting the wreckage behind him once more. He made to return to the Mayor’s home, when some faint commotion and familiar voice caught his attention. He turned and made his way towards the train station then, where he saw the woman named Ororo waiting to board the train.

He approached her as she stood on the platform and was surprised to see Red Streak was sitting at her side. The white haired woman turned to him with a faint smile. “Bad night for a walk, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked.

Logan shrugged, “I suppose it doesn’t bother me anymore than you.” He nodded. He looked to the wolf beside her and crouched down. The pack leader studied him for a moment, but did not go to him. Logan frowned. “I suppose ye don’t like the way I smell now, eh? Too much civilization. I understand.”

Storm stroked the place between the animal’s ears lightly with her finger tips. “You have a pack of your own now.” She said to the man. “But that doesn’t mean he will forget you.”

The dark haired man nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Storm. For everything. I hope we didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

She smirked; “That would be impossible; you’re a man after all.”

He chuckled. “You’ll look after those pups when they’re born, won’t ya?”

“Of course. And you’ll do the same for yours, I presume.”

He nodded; “Long as I’m breathin’.” He tipped his hat to her, “Safe trip, Ororo. You ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call. I owe ya one.”

She nodded thoughtfully and then moved down the platform as the conductor gave the last boarding call. Logan turned away and began the long shuffle home, walking alongside the steaming engine as it warmed up for its journey until it faded behind him into the dark and the drizzling rain. He wandered for a time, following the tracks mindlessly as his thoughts drifted elsewhere. His thoughts had turned back to home; to Jubilee and Laura, and watching them grow together and of Remy and the nights and days that would be filled with companionship and family rather than loneliness and regret.

The wind gusted angrily and Logan bowed his head against it, trying to keep himself from being swept aside. But as it howled around him, he was brought from that happy revere by a devastatingly familiar scent.

Squinting in the wind, he tried to turn towards it, but he wasn’t quick enough. Claws slashed down his back, opening him wide and sending him sprawling forward in the dirt. Logan rasped in pain only to have a foot collide harshly with his shoulders, sending him rolling, only to be kicked in the face. His head snapped back, clanking against the railroad tie. His vision was a red blur and he felt numbness creeping across his limbs even as his healing factor sought to right the traumatic blows.

A heavy body fell upon his and Creed’s clawed hand thrust itself against his rib cage again and again until it managed to force its way through the mangled tissue. Logan screamed and gurgled blood, claws revealing themselves once more as he forced his arms up and thrust both sets into the sides of the bigger feral.

Creed screamed and rolled backward, taking a chunk of Logan’s guts with him as he did. Howlett lay on the gravel, spitting blood and trying to keep from blacking out as he tried to drag himself away from the mad man in front of him.

Blinking through the bloody haze, he got his first good look at Victor. The feral still had severe burns and lacerations covering his skin; marring his usual wild appearance and he seemed genuinely hobbled by the blows Logan had dealt him. “No one walks away from Victor Creed! _Not even you!_ ”

He reached down and grabbed Logan by the hair, dragging him up and hurled him forward like a rag doll, making the smaller man collide with the tracks. The iron dented under the force of the blow and Logan groaned, rolling once more, trying to pick himself up.

But Creed never gave him a second to recover. He came at him again and again, slashing, biting, tearing. At one point he set his teeth into the man’s neck and bit down as hard as he could. Logan screamed and managed to dig his claws into Creed’s back, delving deep enough that it finally dislodged the lunatic and allowed them both to fall aside.

Howlett laid sprawled upon the tracks, barely functioning, only knowing pain. Victor’s blows were brutal and his healing factor was taking too long…why was it taking so long?

Victor was standing over him again, laughing, a mangled bloody mess. “Not feeling so good, eh Jimmy?” he mocked. He bent down next to the man, watching him struggle for air. “Guess you weren’t paying _attention_ earlier. Ya might have noticed a queer lookin’ fella with a long red coat? He was my ace in the hole, Jimmy-boy. The brains behind my brawn, if ya wanna put it that way. Had a nice little _side business_ going here while you were out playing in the woods. See, _Mr. Sinister_ , as he likes to call himself, has a knack of being able to find out what makes people like you and me _tick._ ” He rammed Logan’s head down against the railroad tie, letting him feel the vibration as the engine, now just a few yards down the track began to rumble to life. “And once he finds out what it is…he figures out a way to make _stop_ ticking.”

Logan barely heard him, the words drifting in and out as he fought for consciousness, feeling the vibration of the train as it began to move forward down the track. They were only a mile from the platform, but the night was utterly dark and rain was falling now in driving sheets. The engineer could not see them.

“It’s what Raven used on Xavier to shut him up; and what you're fucking little  _beau_ Gambit used on me! Guess you must have gotten a dose of it when your little shack came falling down on our heads. Musta been what all that damn green smoke was. Hahahaha!” he laughed crazily. "Look at me!"  He leaned closer so that Logan could see the burns on his skin. “Shoulda been all patched up by now, don’t ya think? Took a double hit of that and it _still_ can't keep me down! But you...you're getting weak as a kitten, aren't ya?"

Logan moaned, trying to break free, trying to understand what Creed was saying, but the words sounded like they came from underwater.

"Wonder how long it’ll take ya to put yerself back together after this engine splatters yer brains all over the tracks?”

Logan tried to push him off, but he could barely move, much less fight. Creed was too strong. Victor leaned over him and licked the blood from his cheek, watching him squirm as he did so. “You smell like the Cajun…I think I’ll bring him a piece of your head. Give him something pretty to look at while I’m---“

He heard it too late; the thudding of feet across the muddy ground, the panting breath, the smell of anger and adrenaline. Creed turned just in time to have Laura’s claws rip through him as she screamed. The girl impaled him in the shoulder then swung and kicked him backwards, sending him flipping and rolling across the tracks.

The train was coming, picking up speed. Laura reached down and grabbed Logan, heaving him away from the ties as he clung to her. They rolled away from the tracks, barely clearly the speeding train as it rattled by.

They looked back and saw Victor bathed in the yellow light from the engine, for just a moment, then a loud thud and crack.

Logan turned his head away, hiding in the crook of Laura’s arms as he struggled for breath. Little by little the wounds were closing, the blood was flowing less freely, but flowing all the same. The young woman looked down at him in fear, seeming to realize that he wasn’t recovering as quickly as he should.

“Logan? Logan! Are you alright…say something!”

The man once known as Wolverine looked up into the young woman’s face and smiled through the blood that ran down into his eyes and pushed back her hair. “You did good girl. You did good.”

 

 

***

 

                Two months later…

 

                Opening day.

                It had taken long enough; at least in his opinion. But then again, when he had put her together the first time he had half as many resources and even fewer hands. But now it seemed that nearly everyone in Tull must have had a hand in rebuilding the grand old Inn.

                The morning was bright and not as cold as it had been in the previous weeks. But it was dry as hell, which meant everyone would be thirsty. Logan stood at his accustomed place behind the bar, polishing the counter top until he could see his reflection in it.

                He noted the scar that ran from his left cheek bone up across his eye and well into his hairline. It was growing a bit paler every day, but it was still deep and ragged, and Dr. McCoy guessed that it would never fully heal. Logan was lucky it hadn’t blinded him.

                His healing factor had never returned to its full strength, which worried everyone. Except for Logan. Strange…the idea of mortality seemed less frightening now than it once did. He glanced up to see Jubilee darting in and out between the tables in her accustomed fashion, fussing over whether or not they each had the correct number of chairs and there was enough space between each to keep patrons from bumping into each other.

                “Are you gonna stand there all day staring at yourself, old man?” she sighed, hand on her hip as she looked on at him. A small grey furry beast rushed past her ankles and darted towards the kitchen corridor, looking for scraps. It was one of the wolf pups from Logan’s pack, affectionately called Storm Cloud, that Ororo had brought with her on her last visit. The pup was a runt, too small and fragile for survival in the wild. At least for now.

                It came around the corner of the bar and brushed up against the Inn Keeper’s leg like a cat, pawing at his shoes and whining and Logan swatted at it. “Off with ya, get! Ya little beggar.”

                Remy emerged from the kitchen then, quickly untying his apron strings and hanging it upon the hook on the wall before draping himself over Logan’s broad shoulders. “Ugh, Mon Dieu, is it time to open de doors _yet_? You have been standing here all morning, time to let dese good people have their drinks, eh?”

                Logan smirked at him; “Fine, fine. I suppose she’s as ready as she’ll ever be.”

                Remy grinned and kissed his cheek, darting around the bar with Jubilee as they rushed for the doors. Laura emerged from the stairway then as well and looked on thoughtfully. “You ready, darlin’?” he asked.

                She nodded, nervously smoothing down the apron that clung to her waist. “I think I understand what I am supposed to do, yes.” She looked flatly at Logan. “But if anyone tries to touch me, I’m punching them in the face.”

                Logan grinned and tossed his dishtowel across his shoulder. “That’s my girl.”

                The doors opened, letting in cold air and bright sunlight as a crowd of eager on-lookers pushed their way inside, eager to get out of the draft and see the fruit of their labors. Among the first through the door were Dr. McCoy and the Mayor.

                Charles had never recovered from the wound Creed had dealt him. It left him permanently crippled, bound to a wheel-chair. But the man remained in good spirits as ever; perhaps more so, now that Hank was ever by his side.

                “Good morning!” Henry called eagerly, waving to all of them. He took a moment to look around at the new interior, which was very much like the last one, yet grander somehow. “Oh Logan, it’s marvelous. I have _missed_ this place. And of course, your impeccable service.”

                “Remy has the table already set up for you, Doc. Try not to lay it on so thick, would ya? It’s embarrassing.” Logan replied, doing his best not to smile too much.

                “Entrevous gentlemen! You have de best seat in de house of course…” Remy called, ushering them along to let others pass by. Jubilee was already shouting orders and telling patrons to settle down and wait there turn, while Laura followed after her, dutifully writing everything down. Her hand writing was still a bit shaky, but they had learned to decipher it’s general meaning.

                Logan welcomed others to the bar with his usual cool approach, but the warmth he felt inside was nothing short of brilliant. He was home.

                He glanced up briefly to nod to Scott and Emma, who sat at the bar and ordered two shots of Vodka. No words passed between them, but Logan was glad to see them all the same.

                Within a half hour the Inn was as full as it had ever been, and already new arrivals from the morning train were stopping in to make room reservations. Somewhere in the warm, joyous chaos of it all, Logan found himself drawn to a strikingly unfamiliar face.

                The man’s skin was blue and so smooth and fine that he almost didn’t realize that it was fur covered as well. He was young as well, maybe a few years older than Jubilee at best. He had taken a seat at the far end of the bar, huddled under a long coat and hat that was too broad for him. He smelled nervous, tense. But Logan realized that the man had been watching him for more than twenty minutes; all without saying a word.

                Finally the bar tender made his way down to him. “What can I get ya, bub?” he asked.

                The young mutant startled slightly and Logan saw a twitch of a forked tail just behind him. A blue devil. Now here was something you didn’t see every day; not even in Tull.

                “Are you…are you Mr. Howlett?” the man asked, his voice very soft and his accent very German. Logan blinked slowly.

                “What’s it to ya?”

                The young man licked his lips faintly before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a rolled up scrap of newspaper, handing it to the barkeep. “I believe we share an acquaintance, mein freund.”

                Thoughtfully Logan unrolled the paper and realized it was a flyer for some sort of show or event taking place in New York City. It pictured a man with narrow features and very cold eyes standing in the center, surrounded by various depictions of freaks and mutants. Logan recognized one in the far corner, who was depicted pacing in a cage; Victor Creed.

                The bar keeper narrowed his eyes at the stranger. “Why did you bring this to me?”

                The blue furred man looked up at him, and Logan saw that his eyes were yellow and bright like gold, possessing no other color or shape. They looked very sad. “Because we need your help.”

 

***

Fini

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -thank you everyone who read, gave kudos and especially commented!  
> This story is over, but Logan and Remy's adventures are far from over. I'll continue the adventures of the Western AU in another story soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points to whomever can correctly identify what "Tull" is a reference to.
> 
> Hint: it's in another "western" themed novel


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